


Fae Tribute

by 27dragons, tisfan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Canon-Typical Violence, Fairy Politics, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Love, M/M, Magic, Memory Loss, Sex, Slavery (sort of), non-consensual nudity without sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-05-12 15:39:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 80,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19232068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: The old Ambassador to the fae has died, and it is time to choose a new Ambassador. Bucky accompanies Steve to the Choosing Grounds, thinking that little will come of the event aside from a story to pass on, some day, of the time they met the King of the Summerlands.But King Howard chooses Steve for his new Ambassador, and in his dismay, Bucky does the unthinkable, pushing back against a member of the fae court. For this affront, he nearly loses his life -- until that life is claimed by another. Bucky awakens to find himself trapped in the Summerlands and bound in ways he doesn't fully understand to the half-human prince, Tony.





	1. The Choosing

If the Ambassador to the Fae had died just two weeks earlier, they wouldn’t be in this mess.

Instead -- whoever it was, Bucky didn’t keep track, and the guy had been chosen before Bucky was even born -- he had died three days after Steve’s eighteenth birthday. Which meant that Steve, along with Bucky and another two dozen young men from Brooklyn between the ages of 18 and 25, were loaded into the tram. Each young man was given a bag containing soap and a comb, a towel, and new clothes.

They were told to shower in the tram’s shower car and to dress in the new clothing. Bucky didn’t know what was going to happen to their old clothing.

Bucky stood guard over Steve in the showers. He was tiny, frail, with weak lungs, and a mouth that somehow compelled people to want to punch it.

Steve was his best friend.

They put on the clothes, which turned out to be robes -- Bucky’s barely reached below his knee, showing off his calves and ankles and bare feet, where Steve’s dragged on the ground and Bucky had to engage in some inventive blousing around the belt to keep Steve from tripping -- and then were directed to another car, where they were given a meal.

That was nice, at least.

Despite that, everyone was looking at the food with distrust.

Perfect, polished apples and fresh oranges and nuts and berries and a thick porridge.

“Rabbit food,” someone complained. “Damn faeries don’t eat meat.”

“How do we know this ain’t Summerlands food?”

You weren’t supposed to eat food from the fae, everyone knew that.

“What do you think, pal?” Bucky wondered, picking up an apple. He took out his pocket knife -- he’d hidden it when they came to collect all the clothes and other stuff, not willing to lose it, even if his trousers and shirt and belt had gone who even knew where -- and started to cut the apple into slices. “You think the fae plan to poison or control us all? I don’t believe that. This is just fancy, rich-people food.”

He offered a slice of apple to Steve.

Steve -- because Steve had never backed down from a dare in his life, not even if it put his life on the damn line, much to Bucky’s eternal frustration -- took the slice off the end of Bucky’s knife and bit it in half. The soft _crunch_ seemed to echo through the car, and everyone went still, watching to see what happened.

He did not immediately die, or turn into an animal, or sprout donkey ears, or any of a thousand other consequences the tales warned of. Steve chewed and swallowed. “Ain’t half bad,” he opined, and popped the other half into his mouth. “Kinda tart,” he added, through his chewing. “In a nice way.”

That broke the ice enough for everyone else to be able to eat, and all at once everyone was passing rolls -- no butter, but there was a smearable fruit paste (nothing like what Bucky thought of as jam) -- and eating barley soup and bickering over choice fruits. “I s’pose I could get used to it, if I had to eat naught but fruit and mushrooms all the time.” If nothing else, it would be lovely to have a full belly all the time.

Ambassador to the Fae… It was a position of power, and a life sentence of servitude all at the same time. “You think the _King_ died? Ma said the last call was for young men, too.” The last call was over twenty years ago. Bucky hadn’t been born yet, and Dad had been too old. They’d heard about the choosing on the radio. Twenty years -- that wasn’t long. The Ambassador had been 19 when he was picked, so he’d died, whoever he was, before he was even forty.

“What do you think, you want to be picked?”

“Who the hell would _want_ to be picked?” Steve wondered. “Spend the rest of your days kowtowing to the Summer King and having the whole Court treat you like some kind of animal?”

“Could be nice,” someone opined from down the table. “Never hafta work again, surrounded by the fae. I seen one, once’t. So pretty you can’t hardly tell th’ men from the women. Heard they like to revel, too.”

Bucky took a bite of the roll, dipped it in his soup. It wasn’t bad that way, but he wondered why they had to eat vegetables and grains on their way to meet the Fairy King. Was the scent of meat so foul to them? He didn’t know. Wouldn’t matter. With hundreds of potentials, the King -- or Queen, maybe -- would surely pick someone prettier, someone who wasn’t half-hungry all the time. He rubbed at his knuckles, still bruised from the last fight he’d been in.

“Most of us, we just get a few meals an’ a fancy smoking jacket--” Bucky plucked at the fabric. “An’ go home with a story to tell.”

“It’d be different,” Steve said to Bucky, “if the Ambassador was a real job. A chance to do some good. But I ain’t interested in bein’ a glorified messenger boy.” He picked up another roll and looked like he was considering stashing it in his robe.

“Ain’t a _job_ ,” another man declared, “not glorified or nothin’. It’s a _sacrifice_. It’s a scapegoat. One person, every generation or so, an’ the fae don’t come boilin’ out of their sacred hole like a bunch of wasps to take whatever they want. We learned bullets, an’ we could keep ‘em at bay if they fought like men. But they don’t. My gram told me, she told me about the raids, back when her gram was a young ‘un. They wait in the shadow and grab you where you can’t see ‘em coming. They steal you in your dreams. They open holes to their caves under your feet. And that ain’t even beginnin’ to cover what the Winter Court look like. Drive you mad, just to see their faces. Chase you down with the Grand Hunt, and let their beasts feed on you.”

“One man, or one woman, for twenty years of peace,” Bucky said. He peeled an orange and ate the slice, like a little piece of sunshine. “I’d go. Iff’n I didn’t have responsibilities here.” He gripped Steve’s shoulder and shook him, just a little. “Scared what this one would get up to, if I wasn’t around to stop him.”

Steve made a face, but didn’t actually contradict Bucky. “How long, you reckon, until we get wherever they’re takin’ us?”

“Shouldn’t be too long,” someone said. Bucky didn’t bother to introduce himself, or Steve, didn’t want to ask any names, in case someone from their group was selected. “The opening to the hill’s just outside Boston, I hear. The King an’ his court don’t want to travel too far. We should be home tomorrow, or the day after.”

It went unspoken that one of them, on one of the trams, would _not_ be home tomorrow.

Bucky wondered if they brought in people from all over the country to stand before the King, or if it was just a select few boroughs. And if that was the case, what made the selection? No one knew. Or said, if they did know.

Mostly, people ignored the fae, aside from showing the general courtesies.

Everyone left honey and bread at the windowsill, paid the ancient tolls and taxes. Troll tax, some people called it. Bucky’d been on the island his whole life because leaving meant taking a bridge. And bridges meant tolls.

The tram rolled to a stop not long after a second meal -- the same as the first, and Bucky was already bored with the fare.

“You’re Irish,” someone said, shoving Steve out of the tram and onto the packed dirt. “Maybe they should take their own back, first.”

Steve was human, not halfling. Probably. But he was short and slight, and Irish, and the mistake had been made more than once.

Steve boiled up off the ground, fists already clenched and eyes practically spitting fire. “Say that to my face,” he snarled, “and see what it gets ya!”

“Steve, no,” Bucky said, with a sigh, grabbing hold of Steve’s robe. “I don’t want to stand in front of the King of the Summer Court with blood on my fist, and neither--” He directed a look at the bully. “--do you. If I punch you enough times, think you’ll look troll enough for them to take _you_?”

Bucky could do it, too. Three-time welterweight boxing champion of his district. He might have gone four, but a sudden weight gain had taken him up a class, and he didn’t have the money to train. But he didn’t want to fight. Not today. He was too damn scared to fight today. Fighting a man, even a bully, wouldn’t ease that fear.

Nothing would ease it, until they were back on the tram and headed home.

Steve strained against Bucky’s hold for a little longer, just to make his point -- it was like a little yap-dog trying to pull a mastiff. Then he subsided with a growl, yanking himself free of Bucky’s grip and brushing down the front of his robe with furious swipes. “Ain’t worth it, anyhow,” he muttered.

“No, it ain’t,” Bucky said. “But if you want, I’ll trip him on th’ way home and we can go a few rounds. Maybe the King’ll take him. God only knows what they look for in an _Ambassador_.”

He’d heard the rumors, everyone had. That the Ambassador was nothing more than a decoration, and how that decoration was… _used_.

Bucky shuddered.

Steve squeezed his arm, trying to be reassuring. “S’okay, pal,” he said. “Pretty soon, this’ll just be a story to scare our kids with someday. Y’know, assumin’ we ever have any.” Steve sure as hell wasn’t likely to ever snag a dame, no matter how many times Bucky tried to set him up. They took one look at him and turned up their noses, or they got mad when Steve stepped on their feet trying to dance, or -- on one memorable occasion that Bucky actually had thought was going well for a change -- Steve opened his mouth and went off on one of his rants, and the girl made the first lame excuse that popped into her head and beat feet.

Soldiers moved them along, armed with wooden billy clubs and obsidian daggers. Pretty, Bucky thought, and wondered how much they’d be worth.

They-- and dozens of others, hundreds, maybe, and then… “Nine hundred and ninety-nine,” a man said, counting, and he pushed Steve through the gate.  “One more.”

“I’m goin’,” Bucky said, and he shoved the bully out of his way, following after Steve. He couldn’t let Steve face this alone.

“Thousand, that’s it. Put the rest of these bastards back on the trams,” the gatekeeper said.

“Almost lost you there,” Bucky said, catching up with Steve and grabbing his wrist like Steve was a cranky toddler. “But I’m with you, pal. ‘Til the end of the line.”

The field they’d been corralled into, like a herd of damn cows, was in a riot of spring. Despite the heat in the trainyard, the field felt like March. Flowers blooming everywhere, birds fluttering around, singing songs of praise, there was even a hutch of damn bunnies hopping in the grass. Bucolic.

Bucky wanted to puke. He could sense the glamour, the fae magic, practically a smell, like a whiff of licorice. He was sensitive to it; the family lore said that a few generations back, there’d been a halfling in the Barnes family tree. Of course, hundreds of families in the world said that, didn’t mean it was true.

“God, do you _smell_ that?” Bucky wondered.

Steve took an exploratory sniff of the air. “Smell a thousand guys all crammed together,” he said. “Maybe it was for our sake they made us shower.”

“Smells like glam,” Bucky muttered, quiet, just enough for Steve to hear it, leaning toward Steve’s good ear. “ _Stinks_ of it. Magic.”

There wasn’t a stage, like what Bucky might have expected; instead the King and a few court members were lounging on a little hill, covered in flowers.

“That’s him, all right, King Howard,” someone said. “Seen a painting of him, once. Wasn’t a very good likeness, but I’d still know him. I’m told the faeries don’t let anyone take pictures of them. Wonder why.”

Bucky stared. Even as far back as he and Steve were, practically on the edge of the crowd, he could see that King Howard was… beautiful.

There wasn’t any other word to describe it.

And not earthly beauty, not like a pretty dame to dance with, but ethereal.

He was fall on your knees and pray to your maker gorgeous.

“Can you see?” Bucky asked. Steve probably couldn’t, but Bucky would give him a boost, if he wanted to crane and peer.

“No, gimme a hand up,” Steve said, already putting one hand on Bucky’s shoulder for balance. “How many guys get to say they’ve seen the Court?” He put his foot in Bucky’s cupped hands and stood up, peering over the crowd for a moment, and then dropped back down.

“Apparently, a thousand,” Bucky said. “Least, regular joes. Dunno if the mayor or the president or whatever gets to talk to ‘em.” Steve was smart. Even if he’d had to quit out of art college because of the money, he’d always been up to his ears in a book. Fact-books, too, not dime store novels, either. “Is there a-- a Fae Ambassador? Someone who stays human-side?”

The King gestured and one of his court went to listen to him speak, holding a little conference. The way the crowd in the front moved, Bucky imagined no one could hear it, except the fairy who was listening to the King.

Magic.

He could smell it again, that whiff of bitter herbs and licorice.

Bucky shook his head, trying not to look at the King.

His gaze fell instead on a-- younger fae. He couldn’t tell how he knew that one was younger -- they were all beautiful and youthful, but this one seemed… not quite finished, somehow. “Who’s that?” he wondered. “The skinny guy in the back there? You saw him, Stevie?”

Steve nodded. “I saw him. I’m not sure... Is he wearin’ anything on his head?”

Bucky squinted. “Yeah, he’s got a silvery-looking band around his forehead.” Bucky traced the line against his own forehead, unable to look away. As lovely as the King was, this fae was… _interesting_. Despite looking everywhere except the King and court.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Steve said. “Sounds like the Prince’s coronet. So that’d be the King’s son.”

Bucky just kept looking. It would all be over soon, and he wanted to save it up, to really remember.

There was a crackle as an announcement system came on line. The silence that fell over the group of men was terrifying, full of anticipation. No one knew-- was this the selection? How did the King choose?

After a moment of silence, and nothing happened, the crowd erupted into a flurry of whispers. The man -- a human man -- tapped the microphone, then cleared his throat. “His highness, King Howard of the Summer Court, is grateful for your appearance here today--”

“He don’t look grateful,” Bucky muttered.

“--and he wishes to walk among the crowd. Please do not touch his Highness as he makes his way through to select his new Ambassador.”

The King and his court made a stately procession, moving wordlessly and perfectly in step. The men folded out of his way like butter, opening a wide path in front of him.

It was terrifying, the way King Howard would turn his head and the men would wordlessly move aside. Compelled. Glamoured.

Magic.

Bucky grimaced, reached out and grabbed Steve’s hand. He didn’t want to lose Steve in this fog of magic.

The King was coming closer, so close that Bucky could see the shade of his eyes, like a deer, like the very edge of the night. The sneer on his mouth, the way his hair was perfect and fell in short waves over a shapely head.

He was utterly beautiful and completely alien. Bucky thought his skin looked like it might be cold.

Steve, because Steve never backed down from a dare, no matter how terrifying or stupid it was, stood up as straight as his crooked back would allow, lifting his chin defiantly. He let Bucky pull him back as the King drew closer, but he didn’t look away, like most of the others did. He just looked right back, his jaw set pugnaciously.

King Howard stopped, right there, in front of Steve, assessing him in a single glance. Like so many did, Bucky waited for Howard to just look past, to not see the value, to dismiss him. But he didn’t.

“What’s your name?” King Howard asked.

If Bucky hadn’t felt the way Steve’s hand jerked, he’d have thought Steve had no fear at all. “Steve. Steven Grant Rogers.” It came out smoothly, confidently. Verging on defiant.

“ _Your majesty_ ,” someone hissed, horrified. Bucky didn’t know who it was, he couldn’t stop staring.

Howard waved a hand negligently, as if dismissing the person’s concerns. “Did you know that you are dying, Steven Grant Rogers? Four, maybe five years. If you’re very lucky, you might have as many as ten left to you. But no more than that. Did you know it?”

Steve’s mouth worked, pinching as if he were tasting something sour. “It’s not how long a man lives that matters,” he said after a moment, “but what he does with the time he has.”

“And what do you do,” King Howard continued, “with the time that you have, Steven Grant Rogers?”

Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand, a sliver of cold fear going through his belly. Was this why the former Ambassador had died so young? Did Howard take-- like a predator, the weak and the sickly? Were they predators, the fae, for all that they ate no meat? Everything the stories said seemed to suggest it.

“I do what’s right,” Steve answered.

“You’re very lovely,” the King said, reaching as if he was going to touch Steve’s face and stopping a mere breath before the mark. “So, so very _mortal_. And honest. And brave. Look how you stand there, spitting fire at me with your eyes. Tell me, Steven Grant Rogers, would you like to breathe for the first time? Take a rich, deep breath without coughing or choking on it? Would you like to run, just for the sheer joy of it?”

There was the faintest whiff of anise seed and cloves, and Steve looked almost dazed.

“I...” For the first time, Steve seemed uncertain. His grip on Bucky’s hand tightened. “I would like that,” he admitted.

“I thought you might,” the King said. “Then, will you do what’s right, honor the agreement between the fair folk and the humans, let go your mortal ties, and join me?” The King offered a long fingered, graceful hand, to Steve.

“Oh, oh, oh, no,” Bucky said, unable to help himself. “No, no.”

Steve looked at him, and his mouth twisted into something that Bucky couldn’t read. “Buck... I...”

“Let go of the King’s chosen,” one of the fae barked at him, pushing Bucky back, trying to break his hold on Steve’s hand.

“No-- let me, god damn you, at least let me say _goodbye_ ,” Bucky growled, and he shoved, harder than he thought was possible. The air erupted into that licorice smell, and he was back on his feet, grabbing Steve’s hand again. “Steve--”

“Sire, your Majesty,” The fae -- a guard, perhaps, or a courtier -- put one hand on Howard’s arm. “That man carries _steel--_ he has a _weapon_ , sire.”

“What?”

Everyone in the crowd turned to stare, even the ones who weren’t looking before. Steve’s fingers were cold and shaking in Bucky’s grip, his eyes wide.

“Your pocketknife,” Steve said -- barely even a whisper. “Oh God, Buck, I didn’t... Didn’t think--”

“You _dare_ ,” someone else said, and there was a ringing noise of glass, and…

Bucky barely turned his head in time to see the obsidian sword come down.

For a long moment, he didn’t even feel the pain as his arm and hand spasmed and let go of Steve’s hand, then fell in the grass. Bucky fell to his knees beside it, warm wetness gushing down his side.

“Steve--”

Black crowded the edges of his vision, and Steve’s face followed him into the darkness.

 


	2. A Scrap of Steel

Tony was bored. He’d been excited when Howard had first informed him that he would accompany the Court to the human realm for the choosing of the new Ambassador. He’d never been to the land of his mother’s birth, had only seen it in story-glamours and heard about it from tales. At last, he would get to walk the same earth his mother had walked, perhaps even taste human food or -- if he were very lucky and very clever -- get his hands on human steel.

But as soon as they’d crossed the barrier, it became obvious that no such freedom would be forthcoming. They’d barely gone farther than the gate before they arranged themselves, lounging on the grass, anticipating that the Ambassador candidates would come to them.

Tony could have done _that_ back home -- though it was far more likely that he’d be in his workshop instead, building something, _making_ something. This was just... the usual tedium of Court with a different setting.

The _sun_ was a revelation, at least. His mother and Ambassador Coulson had both tried to describe it for him, but Tony could see now that words could never do it justice. It was fiercely bright; all the fae had to place a glamour over their eyes to dim its light. And the warmth was palpable, like standing near a fire.

But it didn’t change much, and even that novelty soon passed. It was a little more interesting when the candidates began to arrive. He’d known the former Ambassador, of course, and his mother, but he’d never seen so many humans all in one place before. No glamour to them at all -- but Tony found that refreshing, really. _Honest_ , in a way the fae almost never were. They were really quite beautiful, with their broad shoulders and their expressive eyes.

Fascinated, he’d followed his father into the crowd. If this was as close as he could get, then he was taking full advantage of it. One of the guards gave him a narrow look, but Tony ignored it. If Howard didn’t tell him to go away, then the guards certainly weren’t going to.

He had to put his hands in his pockets to remind himself not to touch them, curling his fingers around the little lump of iron he kept there. Some of them looked afraid, which was sad. Tony wished he could reassure them, but their eyes were just as wide and wild looking at him as they were looking at Howard.

One of them had hair as bright as a flame, curling up from his head. Tony blinked at it twice, but it-- it wasn’t a glamour. It was _real_. Tony leaned in close to look at it, even as Howard moved on, uninterested. The man’s hair was astonishing -- looking closely, it was a hundred different shades of red and orange and brown, all swirled together like the branches of a bramble, like... like nothing Tony had seen before.

In his peripheral vision, Howard had stopped moving and was talking to one of the candidates. Finally, a selection had been made. That meant they’d be leaving soon, though. Tony was running out of time, and it would be _years_ before he’d be allowed back into the human realm. Tony leaned even closer, and the fire-haired man leaned back, nervous. “I won’t touch you,” Tony promised. “I just want to see--”

“No-- let me, **god damn you,** let me say goodbye,” one of the men roared, and Tony turned toward the sound, startled by the blast of power, by the man’s fury and rage, stronger than most. His father’s guard fell backward into the grass and for a moment lay there, shocked and graceless. “Steve!”

One of the guards near Tony grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back. “Get back, highness,” he snapped. He didn’t care, really, for Tony’s safety, but it was his charge to protect the Prince.

“ _\--steel--_ this man has a weapon!”

There was yelling, screaming. Pushing and shoving. A few of the humans touched him, not curious or even with daring, but accidentally, as they hurried to get away, get away. Like being in the middle of the Great Hunt, all confusion and noise and the potential for violence.

Tony set his feet against the tide of humans and then pushed his way forward, curious to see the man who had dared to bring steel into Howard’s presence.

The man was luminous in his beauty, with eyes like glass, almost silver, and tall, with wild, windswept hair.

The guard who’d been knocked down scrambled to his feet, still entirely graceless, and he drew his sword.

“Steve--” the man said, reaching for Howard’s Chosen. Everything about the man was crying out, desperate need, love, friendship. He cherished the man who would be Howard’s Ambassador, didn’t want to be parted from him.

The guard spat. “How dare you, mortal scum!”

And swung his sword.

The man stared for a long moment, his arm severed from his body, the wound gushing blood.

“Steve…” and the strength went out of him, his knees folded, and he fell, face down into the grass.

“Come,” Howard said. “I have Chosen.” He put a hand on the Ambassador’s elbow. “We will go now.”

Tony couldn’t stop looking at the fallen man, though. Obviously, his life was forfeit, having brought steel into the King’s presence, having committed violence against one of the fae. But that depth of emotion... “I want this one.” Tony was hardly aware of speaking before the words reached his own ears.

The Chosen, who had gone pliant and obedient at Howard’s touch, didn’t even look away from the King’s face. Howard, on the other hand, actually stopped mid-stride. “ _What?_ ”

Reversing direction, Tony had found, was far more dangerous than standing your ground, when it came to Howard. “This man,” he said, gesturing. “I want him. He’s dead, if we just leave him. What’s the harm?”

“Very well,” Howard said, and he flashed a look at Tony that spoke clearly that the cost for this favor would be steep. But Howard did not wish to argue with his son in front of humans. “If you would bring him, you might wish to tend his wounds. We will not wait for you.”

Howard moved away, toward the passage where the Summer Lands lay, twilight and eternal. They didn’t move fast, out of courtesy to the Chosen’s pace. The man was barely chest high on Tony, and there appeared to be something -- many somethings, if Tony had to be honest -- wrong with the man’s health.

Tony would never understand Howard’s choices. He sighed and crouched down, cupping his hands around the remnant of the man’s arm. He whispered a charm, cutting off the flow of blood, and then another, to seal the wound. He glanced up -- Howard was already stepping through the Portal, and as promised, none of the guards had remained behind to stand over Tony.

Tony gathered the man in his arms -- he wasn’t quite so strong as a full-blood Fae, but the man weighed very little -- and strode toward the portal as quickly as he could without entirely losing dignity.

The portal swirled, green and purple and red, a rainbow, a kaleidoscope, a riot of colors. Tony gritted his teeth as he stepped through. He hated the portals, the cobweb feel of magic that wasn’t his own skating over his skin. The way he couldn’t breathe, the way it squeezed at his brain, his eyeballs.

And then he was on the other side.

“Prince Anthony.” His father’s chamberlain, Jarvis, beckoned to him. The rest of the court were mounting their steeds -- fae horse or near-horse or worgen, whatever mounts they had brought. “I regret to inform you that your father wishes your mount-- he thinks it will be most comfortable for the Chosen. You will… bring your new charge. And walk home.”

Tony gritted his teeth and smiled. He’d known there would be punishment for speaking out. Walking home was, in truth, somewhat milder than he expected. Or perhaps this was only the beginning. “Then I am fortunate,” he told Jarvis, “that I welcome the peace and solitude of a walk.”

“Don’t be late to the Welcoming Feast.” Jarvis gave Tony one of his rare smiles, stubbornly affectionate toward the child of the King. He was one of few who held any esteem for the half-breed prince. “The King would be most displeased.”

Tony rolled his eyes while he was certain no one could see. The King would be displeased with Tony no matter what. He was more concerned with getting his new charge home before the binding charms wore off.  He didn’t wait to watch the rest of the court depart, just set off through the fields.

***

For a damn fool who expected to wake up outside the pearly gates, or Hell’s pit, depending on how lenient Saint Peter was feeling that day, Bucky was, shockingly enough, alive.

Or, at least, he was pretty sure he was alive.

Not having been dead before.

But he was laying on what appeared to be a bed made out of leaves -- it was surprisingly comfortable -- and staring up at a curtain of butterfly wings.

He went to push himself up and was--

“Oh, god,” he croaked. “M’arm, _my arm_ , they cut off my damn arm--” He struggled, trying to get upright, not even thinking that maybe he shouldn’t be--

“Oh, hey, whoa, slow down,” said a voice. “It’s okay, you’re going to be okay.”

“They cut off my arm--” Bucky said it again, like saying it might make it real. Or not real. “Oh, god, where am I? What happened? Steve? _Steve_!”

“Shh, he’s okay, your friend is _fine_ , I promise. Better than you are, really.” The speaker appeared, bending over Bucky’s bed. He was dusky-skinned and ethereally beautiful and _absolutely not_ _human_. “Does it hurt? Are you in pain at all?”

Bucky didn’t want to look at the place where his arm had been, but it... did _not_ hurt, it didn’t hurt at all, and he wasn’t sure why, because it _should_. “What did you do to me?” He turned, bracing himself, and looked.

The arm was decidedly missing, but the skin was smooth over the wound, like it had been decades since he’d been cut. He’d seen… men from the war, men from industrial accidents, and no scar healed that well.

It looked like his arm was a doll’s and it had just been sanded down clean and repainted. “Who are you?”

The fae grinned, like he was delighted Bucky had asked that. “You can call me Tony, for now,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“You’re th’ Prince,” Bucky said, suddenly horrified. “Oh, god, I saw-- shit. Shit. Where…” He swallowed hard, looking around wildly. It was perfectly obvious where he must be, and he was in so much goddamn trouble. Being dead would have probably been better. “Uh… it’s Bucky. Your highness.”

“No, no, no, just Tony,” Tony corrected. “ _Your highness_ is for Court.” He studied Bucky carefully. “Bucky,” he said slowly, as if trying to taste the word in his mouth. “Hm. Good. Don’t ever tell a fae your real name. It gives them power over you.”

“Steve-- he gave the King--” Bucky was utterly horrified. He wasn’t supposed to ask, he knew that, _everyone_ knew that. You didn’t ask questions of the fae, not unless you had information they needed to trade. You didn’t tell a fae your full name, and you didn’t take presents from them. Oh, Bucky was in _so much_ trouble.

“Yes, he did,” Tony agreed. “But it’s okay. He’d already been chosen, by that point, and now he’s under Howard’s protection.”

Bucky was still wearing the ceremonial robe, although the one sleeve had been removed, and there wasn’t any blood on it, as if it had been magicked clean. “Humans say fae can’t tell lies,” he said, cautiously, feeling his way around the conversation. He picked at the leaves that made up his bed, and they were somehow staying together, like a blanket, although he couldn’t see any stitches. The whole thing smelled like… cloves.

“Not the same way humans can,” Tony agreed. “Though tricking someone into believing a wrong thing is considered something of an art form.”

“What’s going to happen to me?” Bucky wondered. He patted at the robe, and… yes, there it was. He moved his right hand cautiously across the robe, reaching for his left pocket. He wasn’t _totally_ defenseless. Maybe he could bargain or threaten his way out of here.

“You’re mine,” Tony said, as simply and easily as that. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Yours? Your _what_ , exactly? You don’t _own_ people,” Bucky protested, and he got his right hand in the left pocket, the cool steel of his pocket knife a comfort in his palm.

“You do if their debt is big enough, or-- Well, that’s beside the point. I don’t own you, precisely. You’re my charge.” He said the word with a faint emphasis, as if it held some special meaning.

“If their debt is big enough--” Bucky said, slowly. “My arm. Did you heal me? Is that the debt I owe?”

Tony shook his head, frowning a little. “No. You didn’t ask for that, or agree to it. I just did it. If I make you a new arm, that might be a debt. But that will take some time.”

“Of which you have precisely none, young master,” a second voice said. “The King commands that you prepare yourself and your human. The Welcoming is about to begin.”

Bucky stared. He didn’t know the Fae could get old, but this one absolutely was, with white hair and a cane that he leaned on to walk.

“We’ll be on time, Jarvis,” Tony said, and if he were human, Bucky would have said he sounded both fond and exasperated. “He’s only just woken up, give us a minute.”

“I trust you will not try your father’s patience,” Jarvis said. “But you may wish to provide appropriate attire and, as you are so fond of saying, _haul ass_.”

Bucky snorted, startled. And then it was an actual laugh, because the fae was so old and so dignified, and... _scolding_ the crown prince like a misbehaving puppy.

Tony grinned at him, a startlingly human expression. “There, that’s not so bad, is it? Come on, sit up, Jarvis is right; it won’t do to have the King annoyed with _both_ of us.” Tony tucked a hand under Bucky’s shoulders and pushed him upright with surprising strength. “You’ll definitely want to leave your weapon here,” he advised.

“Ain’t a weapon,” Bucky protested, although he knew he was lying. “S’ a _tool_.” Tony, from so close, smelled nice. Like… nutmeg. It reminded Bucky a bit of Christmas.

“It’s steel, and has a blade,” Tony returned. “Close enough to a weapon, and if you bring it to Court, a grave enough insult that I won’t be able to help you again. Leave it here. No one will touch it.”

No, Bucky imagined not. He wasn’t even sure the fae _could_ touch it. “Didn’t exactly bring my good togs to this _celebration_ ,” he said, letting Tony help him out of the weird leaf-and-butterfly bed.

“Yes. I will provide clothes.” He held up a finger. “A loan, not a gift.” He kept his arm around Bucky until Bucky had caught his balance, and then tugged at the knothole on a tree, which... opened up like a cabinet, revealing far more space inside than the tree could possibly hold, even if it were hollow.

“You fae smell like the goddamn pantry--” Bucky muttered, using his right hand to wave away the smell of saffron. He didn’t even know how he knew what spices he was smelling, but this one was old, and it was rare, and it was achingly expensive in human lands. And the wardrobe _reeked_ of it.

“Do we?” Tony seemed pleased. He rummaged in the wardrobe and came up with an armful of clothes. “I’ve never heard that from a human before.”

“It’s nice enough,” Bucky said, “but a little overpowering.”

The clothing was all-- weird.

Bucky didn’t even know how to describe it, all flowing fabrics made from impossible things. It wasn’t _cloth_ , not like anything he’d ever seen. “Did you make this out of the _first frost of the full moon_?” As soon as his fingers brushed it, he knew what it was. And another shirt, the black ice that covered a pond. A pair of trousers made from the remnants of a dream of flying. “How do you get through a party, wearing clothes like this?”

“In style,” Tony said easily. He stepped close to lace up Bucky’s shirt for him. “You’re very discerning. The last Ambassador couldn’t tell what his clothes were made of.”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, fingering the fabric, the way it clung to him. “But I just _know--_ ” He paused, then looked at Tony-- he didn’t know how, or if, he could trust this man, this fairy prince. But he had to start somewhere. “Thank you, for the loan. You have… my gratitude.” And as if it were a real thing, tangible, and valuable and unspeakable, he felt it _leave him_ , the warmth of thanks, the comfort of knowing he wasn’t entirely and utterly alone here. He’d given it, as a gift. To Tony.

Tony’s eyes lit up, practically, the whiskey-brown turning nearly golden for a moment so brief Bucky thought he might have imagined it. “Oh, very nice,” he approved. “I accept your gratitude.” That sounded formal, _ancient_ , somehow.

Tony waved an arm and a half-dozen things flew out of the wardrobe and wrapped themselves around Tony’s body. “Try not to talk to anyone at the ceremony,” he advised through the whirlwind of fabric. “You obviously know the basics, but Court rules are a little more... delicate.” The clothes settled and the silver circlet came to rest on Tony’s brow. He offered Bucky his hand. “Come, I will lead the way.”

Bucky was terrified and indignant and excited all at the same time, but no single impulse was as great as wanting to touch Tony-- to feel what his clothes were made from, but also-- just his skin. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, without even thinking, and he took Tony’s hand.

 


	3. The Welcoming

Well, Howard hadn’t left any of the stops in, so to speak.

Everything in the east wing was done over to impress. Not that they had an east wing, really. The palace wasn’t a physical place, the way a human might have thought it -- so strange, thinking that a human built a house and it just _stayed there_ , unchanging. But Maria had told him about it, how her bedroom as a child had stayed the same, every day of every month, the same windows, the same walls.

Tiny dewdrop fairies dotted the walls, serving out some obscure punishment, or paying off a debt, sitting in delicate glass globes and providing the light. Music, performed by dryads and ents, swelled in the air. Trees bent to offer glasses of wine or plates of food to partygoers.

“That’s not horrific at all,” Bucky murmured and the human pressed even closer to him, hand squeezing at Tony’s arm.

“Don’t be frightened,” Tony soothed, patting Bucky’s arm. The human was so _warm_. He didn’t remember Ambassador Coulson or even his mother feeling like this. “No one here will hurt you, not tonight.” He glanced at Bucky, then added, “You can take the food or drink from the trees. They can’t indebt you.”

Despite the warning of his father’s displeasure, Howard was nowhere in sight; he hadn’t made his grand entrance, of course not. 

The thrones, which appeared for every court function (Tony rather loathed them) were set upon a block of ice that happened to be on fire. Sunset’s work, Tony thought. She always did go overboard. There were cushions at the foot of each throne, a large, blue and white one made from hope and a fresh start near Howard’s throne, and another one, smaller, dingier, made of shattered hopes and the pause just before pain, near Tony’s own.

For the humans to kneel on.

Of course.

“Prince Anthony.” Her voice was as lovely as it was utterly devoid of emotion. “How enchanting to see you again.”

Tony fixed his smile as he turned to greet her. “Sunset. You’re as beautiful as ever.”

Sunset was, in fact, dazzling. Dressed in purest morning dew that glittered in the light and concealed nothing at all. She pushed, as she always did, the boundaries of good taste. But she was noticeable, and everyone looked at her when she moved, sending rainbow droplets scattering everywhere. “I see you brought home a new friend,” she said. She didn’t touch Bucky; even Sunset wasn’t brave enough for that. “Pity you broke him already. He looks like he might have been worth the effort. Once.”

Bucky seemed to be trying very hard not to look at her, studying her dainty bare feet where they poked out from under her dress, his gaze not moving any further up than Sunset’s knees.

“Mm,” Tony hummed noncommittally. “Then I suppose it’s for the best that he’s not in your keeping, isn’t it?”

“Not yet,” she said. “But he would add greatly to someone’s status. After all, who else, aside from the King, has a human in their charge for more than the time it takes to grant some ridiculous request?”

It was all Tony could do not to slip his hand into his pocket to finger his iron. “Who else, indeed? And to whom else should he grant that honor, if not me?”

“I didn’t realize you’d regained any of your father’s goodwill,” she purred. “And if it’s a punishment for you, won’t you let me take it off your hands? Just for a night?” She reached out her hand as if to touch Bucky’s chest and, without seeming to see her at all, Bucky turned to fetch down a goblet of wine from one of the trees.

“Your highness would care for a drink?” He offered the glass to Tony, putting Tony between himself and Sunset.

Tony took the glass carefully. “I give you my thanks,” he pledged, and smiled thinly at Sunset. “If he’s a punishment, then I’m sure Father would be most displeased to learn I’d bargained him away, however briefly. Doubly so, if he meant it as a sign of goodwill.” Tony was absolutely certain that Howard didn’t give a single care about Bucky, or what happened to the human, but that had never stopped him from wielding his father like a weapon before.

“Well, keep in mind,” Sunset said, taking a drink from her own glass and studying Bucky intently over the rim. “I have many favors to offer, including the one I know you crave most.” She leaned in closer, her lips brushing Tony’s ear. “ _Forgetfulness_.”

Tony had grown up in the court and long since learned to hide his reactions. Sunset probably knew it anyway. She had always been deft at prying out hungers.

Bucky took the glass as Tony was finished with it, and put it aside. “Would you-- could we go and look at the fountain?” His fingers were deft and warm in the crook of Tony’s elbow, his entire manner subservient, and yet somehow protective. 

“Of course,” Tony said. “Sunset, it’s been a pleasure, as always.”

“Ma’am,” Bucky added, bowing his head just a little. 

Sunset’s eyes flared wide with rage. “ _Ma’am_?”

Tony was quick, compared to a human, and clever, even compared to his fellow fae, but he was not faster or more malevolent than Sunset when she felt she’d been slighted.

It was all deliberate, even Tony could see it; the way she turned as if to stride away, insulted, and the way her dress swirled, just as Bucky took a step--

\--catching the fabric with one foot.

It shouldn’t have torn; fae-made clothing didn’t tear, unless under great strain, and while holding up Sunset’s bosom was an impressive feat, it wasn’t likely that she would wear shoddy workmanship. 

But the dress tore anyhow and Sunset stumbled -- gracefully caught by one of her flunkies who’d appeared out of nowhere. And the entire bottom of the dress shattered to the ground, spraying water like diamonds, showing off Sunset’s long legs and trim ankles.

“Clumsy oaf,” she spat, raising her hand as if to strike.

Before Tony could say, or do, anything, Bucky turned red as a plum and said _exactly_ the wrong thing. “I’m so terribly sorry. My fault.”

“No,” Tony said quickly, urgently, but it was too late. Bucky had said it, and there was no taking it back. Bucky froze, unnaturally still, held in the shimmer of Sunset’s unsubtle glamour. The light of triumph shone from Sunset’s eyes. “Is this the only way you can win a human’s charge?” Tony bit out.

Sunset gave him a brilliant, beautiful smile, as cold as the far side of the moon. “One night, and I will forgive the slight,” she said. “Come, he admitted as much. I am owed, and I will claim it. After the Welcoming, until court tomorrow, he is mine. Or I will take my complaint to the King and see what he makes of it.”

Tony ground his teeth, but there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that he could do. “You won’t touch him,” he said.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I won’t hurt him. Not yet. He won’t ask it of me. It takes time to cultivate that yearning in a human heart. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make repairs to my gown.” She vanished in a shimmer of mist.

Bucky gasped as she released him from whatever glamour she’d put him under. “What-- what happened?”

Tony caught Bucky’s hand and drew it through the crook of his arm. It wouldn’t do to cause a scene. “Sunset has claimed a penance from you,” he said. “I would stop it if I could, but you admitted fault. My hands are tied.”

“I stepped on her dress,” Bucky protested. “What--” He took a deep breath. “Experts at makin’ people believe a thing that’s not true. She arranged it.”

Tony nodded. “She wants to embarrass me. To prove that I have nothing that she cannot take away.”

“What will she claim from me?” Bucky looked worried. “I got nothin’ here, and almost nothin’ back home, even if I had a way to bring it with me.”

“A night,” Tony said. “From the time the Welcoming ends until the start of court tomorrow morning, you’ll be her charge.”

“I still don’t rightly understand what that means,” Bucky protested, but there wasn’t time to explain.

The trumpets sounded and Howard was striding into the room.

As one, the assorted fae sank to one knee to offer humility, loyalty, and obedience to the King. Graceful as the ripple on a still pond, the wave moved from Howard, out to the very edges of the celebration space. Even the trees bowed, and the lights flickered, dimmed.

Except Tony.

Tony was the crown prince, and he bowed to no one and nothing.

Bucky went down to one knee, his obeissance almost as graceful as if he were fae, complicated by the fact that, instead of turning to Howard, bowing his head to Howard, Bucky was facing Tony. He hadn’t even looked as Howard entered the room. He went down, showing the back of his neck to _Tony_.

Tony’s breath caught at that elegance, that perfect surrender. Tony hadn’t even laid a glamour on Bucky. He wanted to reach out and place his hand on that exposed skin, to press his lips there, to give Bucky reassurance and strength, but-- Not here, not now. Tony dipped his head when Howard looked his way, but otherwise stood straight. Uncowed by the rebuke of having to walk home, undaunted by Howard’s cold gaze. The iron in his pocket seemed heavier, and Tony took comfort from its weight against his leg.

Howard twitched an eyebrow; he’d already heard what Sunset had done, that was obvious in the disapproving scowl. Tony would be hearing about it, in detail. Letting that woman embarrass the family? Providing a scandal to make tongues wag on the night that the only thing anyone should be speaking of was Howard’s Ambassador?

_If you hadn’t rushed me_ , Tony thought furiously at his sire, _I’d have been able to explain the rules to him._

“My children,” Howard said. “Rise and look upon this wonder I have brought before you. This marvel from the human world that they grace us with. I wish for you all to give welcome to our newest ambassador, the token of good faith and our symbol of peace. I make you all known to Steve Rogers.”

“What--?” Bucky was staring, practically straining in the direction of his friend. “What the _hell_ did they do to him?”

Because Steve was not the tiny, sickly youth he'd been, but tall, towering over Howard. Strong and as well-muscled as an ox. A fact made plain by the fact that he was barely wearing any clothes as all, a simple loincloth and a jeweled belt. His skin was oiled and shining, perfection itself. 

But it was undoubtedly the same face, the same jaw and the same stubborn expression.

“He’s the Ambassador,” Tony said under his breath. “The King wouldn’t have an Ambassador who’s less than the pinnacle of everything he could be.” To be fair, the magic didn’t affect most ambassadors so dramatically. “Come on, I’m the prince; we have to be first.” He pulled until Bucky put one foot in front of the other, following him.

Tony stopped in front of Howard and Steve. He wouldn’t bow, of course -- no fae would bow to a human, let alone the prince -- but he met Steve’s eyes for a moment, and then nodded. “Steve Rogers, I give you welcome.”

Howard was going to have his hands full with this one, Tony thought, because Steve shook off the King's glamour and nearly pushed Tony aside. “Bucky! I thought you were dead!” 

He threw his arms around Bucky, pulling him into a fierce embrace. “Yeah pal. I thought you were smaller.”

“You're… staying?”

“His highness… saved my life.” Bucky made a nod in Tony's direction. “I'll stay as long as he allows it.”

“How could I bear to see such fast friends parted?” Tony wondered, smiling. For a wonder, it was even a genuine smile, a warmth found in the humans’ joy.

Howard, of course, wasn’t about to have his ceremony interrupted. He rebound Steve in his glamour. “Ambassador, I make you known to my son, Prince Anthony, born of a previous ambassador, Maria.”

So much for warmth. The humans probably wouldn’t recognize the slight in that introduction, not until they’d been here for a while. Well. Tony had made a reputation of embracing his human blood wholeheartedly; he wasn’t about to stop just because his father disapproved. “Tony,” he corrected, and then moved to stand in his appointed place, just behind his father and to the side.

Of all the various human customs that the Summer Court had adopted, a receiving line was quite literally, one of the worst. Tony, with Bucky just behind him, had to stand in the row with Howard as an endless parade of fae nobility crossed, spoke a few words, and went about their way.

On the floor, the merry-making was ongoing, dancing and eating and other, more exotic, entertainments. But Tony was stuck listening to the various nobles gush with various degrees of sincerity. Some offered gifts, ostensibly to the king, to subtract from the burdens his charge would lay on him. These were kept in careful tally, according to debts owed the King, or favors desired. It was complicated and involved, dreadfully boring, and utterly lethal.

Steve had been given more time, or was under the lock of the King’s glamour, as he said little, and only gave out vapid smiles. Sometimes, at a discreet nudge from Howard, Steve would kiss a noble’s hand, or pay a pretty compliment. Those, too, were favors and would be closely guarded.

Bucky, by way of Tony, received almost none of these things. He was sometimes commented upon, as if he was an animal too dumb to understand, but obtained no tokens or gifts or even good will.

Not that Tony had expected much, certainly not while he was standing next to Howard. No one would want to risk the King’s scorn by courting favor with the halfling prince. But he couldn’t help but fume inwardly at the disrespect to Bucky.

There were a few shining exceptions. Rhodey, the commander of the King’s winged military units, offered Steve a few nicely turned compliments, and a whistle that could be used to summon one of the sturdy war griffons. 

And then offered Tony a hug, a rough pat on the back, and a campset, which would include one of the bags that kept its own dimensional pocket, and probably any number of useful, practical gifts inside that Bucky could take out later and examine.

“And you still owe me a visit,” Rhodey reminded, a playful calling of debt that would give Howard no excuse to forbid the outing.

“As soon as my schedule allows,” Tony promised. “Before the new moon, at least.” He actually took a moment to introduce Bucky to Rhodey, rather than just enduring a critical once-over. “Rhodey, my charge, called Bucky.” He twisted a little to tell Bucky, “I seem to be eternally in Rhodey’s debt, and he is kind enough to occasionally be indebted to me.”

Rhodey gave Bucky a wide grin. “Welcome to the Summerlands, since ain’t no one else around here gonna say it.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Bucky said, and there was a soft, subtle shift in the air as that locked into place. For someone who had floundered so badly, Bucky had a way about him of claiming the favor that was offered with such skill that Tony wondered if he even knew he was doing it.

“Huh,” was all Rhodey said to that, then gave Tony another pat on the shoulder before clearing the line.

That interaction sustained Tony through the next interminable hour, until he spotted Pepper’s copper-bright hair coming nearer.

Pepper’s family line was very ancient, even if she was herself quite young, and she carried a certain air of authority. Tony was quite certain that Pepper would do a better job running the Summerlands than Howard ever possibly could. It was possible that Howard knew that as well, because Pepper’s welcome to Steve and her greetings to Howard only barely passed muster. She was short spoken, sparse, and elegant in her words, before turning away and practically gushing over Tony and Bucky.

“Any friend of Tony’s,” she said, tipping her head and offering Bucky her hand, “is my friend.” She left unspoken that any enemy of Tony’s was also her enemy, and she had a great many ways to make life unpleasant for her enemies.

Tony adored her.

He wasn’t sure, exactly, how he’d won her friendship, but he would be grateful for it eternally. He tipped his head back toward Bucky and nodded that it was safe to take Pepper’s hand. “You should come and visit us soon,” Tony suggested. “Oh, or we could take Bucky to the crystal forest!”

“The honor is mine,” Bucky said, bowing over her hand and -- oh, if it was anyone else but Pepper, Bucky might have promised more than he could deliver -- kissed her knuckles. “To the most gracious lady I’ve met this night.”

With a few words, Bucky insulted just about everyone in the Receiving Line, in such a way that could never be claimed. 

Even Howard took his attention off the next person in the line in order to regard Bucky with something that bordered on respect.

Oh, Bucky was going to be _dangerous_ once Tony had laid out the rules for him properly. Tony practically swelled with pride.

Pepper caught Tony’s eye and smiled that secret smile that meant she knew what Tony was thinking, and Tony winked at her.

And not only that, but once she’d gone on her way, Tony spotted the end of the line. The ordeal was nearly over.

_Nearly_ wasn’t the end, however, and as the last of the fae nobility made their way to the head of the line, powerful, wealthy, and clever with their glamour, Sunset contrived to be the very last to offer her words and gifts. She had the power to claim a higher place in the line, but as the last, she had the attention of the entire room, everyone now being free to gossip rather than hone their polished words.

Her presentation to the King was entirely appropriate, neither too fawning, nor the slightest bit impertinent. She complimented Steve without eying him covetously, like a gem she wished she could adorn herself with. Did everything so completely without ceremony, without avarice or artifice, that Tony was all but trembling when she came to meet him.

She was saving it up, he knew that as well as he knew her, and he knew Sunset entirely too well.

“Prince Anthony,” she said, giving him a bow that was a shade too deep, but also, met his eyes the entire time. _Challenging_ him. He would lose face to react to her, but she was going to stab him so hard in the back he’d have trouble sleeping for a week.

“Sunset,” he returned cooly, not giving her so much as a greeting or an empty compliment.

“Ah,” she said, already counting up her points. She was soaking it for everything it was worth. “I have a gift, for your companion. I shall wish him to wear it, when he presents himself to me.” She spread her hands, showing them empty.

Tony didn’t -- quite -- bare his teeth at her. “I see you’ve abandoned classic cruelty and are stooping to heavy-handed spite. Are you quite certain you’re a child of the Summer?”

“More than you,” Sunset said. “Acknowledge the point, or I’ll have him in chains.”

Bucky’s expression was flat, angry, and a little puzzled. “But there's  _nothing--_ ” His eyes widened. “Oh.” His cheeks went brick red and he shuffled his feet, entirely flustered.

“Exactly,” Sunset said. She made a show of yawning. “It’s early, but I believe I’ll retire. Enjoy the rest of the party.”

Tony didn’t think he’d ever been so tempted to take out his lump of iron and peg it at another fae. He tipped his head slightly to the side, acknowledging the point. “Don’t wait up.”

For once, Howard declined to say anything about it, just fussed over his new Ambassador and the riches they’d acquired in the evening’s events.

Bucky, on the other hand, was looking at Tony, one hand cupping the stump of his arm. “Is there somewhere we can speak, privately? Without leavin’ the party, that is.”

At least he understood that much of the rules. Tony gestured toward the nooks and grottoes that lined the area, and followed Bucky toward the nearest.


	4. Sunset and Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small trigger warning here for Sunset's treatment of Bucky; she doesn't actually touch him, but she's petty and cruel. If you need details before reading, please feel free to [ask](https://27dragons.tumblr.com/ask)!

Bucky could still feel the fae woman’s eyes practically crawling on him. He allowed himself the luxury of a shudder and rubbed at his neck, trying to clean himself off. 

“What does she believe you did to her?” he demanded of Tony, which was probably rude and breaking all sorts of the unspoken rules. Bucky didn’t understand any of this, only enough to know that he was being used, and that badly.

Tony sighed. “I didn’t fall madly in love with her,” he said. His eyes were on the crowd they could see, just beyond the little doorway. “She had plans to be my consort, perhaps even Queen some day. She traded on her closeness to me for favors, and when I broke things off, she was left with a great deal of debt. It took her a long time to recover, and she’s never forgiven me for it.”

_Hell hath no fury_ , Bucky thought. “Did you love her?”

“I thought I did,” Tony admitted. “Until I realized that I was nothing more than a path to power for her. She didn’t even _like_ me. She thought I should’ve been put out as a changeling.”

“You’re half human,” Bucky said, wonderingly, and he raised his fingers, brushing Tony’s cheek very lightly with the back of his hand. It seemed odd. He should be screaming and insane with the loss of his arm, the pain of that loss, and not only that, but the loss of _everything_ ; his entire world was gone. Would his parents, his sisters, ever know what happened to him? 

But there was this whole, entire world to replace it, and he couldn’t mourn his old life, even if he thought he should. There’d been no time to even notice the hole in himself before it was filled up again.

Tony allowed the touch without turning into it. “A little less than half,” he said. “My mother had been here for quite a while before she had me. Though she made me in the human way, so perhaps that balances...” He made a face. “Close enough to half, anyway. Things will be harder for you because of it. I am... not much respected. Most of them--” He gestured toward the sparkling party. “--think my father should have made my mother give me up. Or at least made a child of his own to be a legitimate heir.”

Bucky had been fighting with himself, all evening; he wasn’t a slave, he wasn’t a pet. He didn’t belong to Tony -- even if he did, and the laws were entirely different from the human world. Bucky knew that making the wrong promise to a fae could very well mean servitude for life. Everyone knew that.

His emotions still swung wildly between resenting the hell out of the fact that this had happened to him because he’d never meant something like this to happen, and gratitude that Tony had saved him, when anyone would say his own stupidity meant he was unworthy _to be saved_.

And then, watching all these pretty, noble fae snub Tony. Some very obviously, and some merely ignored or neglected him. 

Well, whatever came of it-- “That would have been a terrible waste,” Bucky said. “I’m happy that he didn’t. That you’re here. Now.”

Tony turned to look at Bucky, then, and his eyes were wide with something like wonder. “You are,” he breathed. “You actually are.”

Bucky wasn’t quite used to being confronted with so much emotion. Usually, on the few occasions that he’d get sappy with Steve, Steve would tease him for it. This-- amazed gratitude for being himself, well, that was going to get Bucky in trouble. The last thing he needed was for someone to _encourage_ him to be a sap.

But he had more important things to think about right now. Like showing up naked at some unknown fairy lady’s boudoir. “What’s-- going to happen? When I show up in m’ altogether, for your former sweetheart?” He gulped around a sudden aching throat. “She gonna expect me t’-- erm… entertain her?”

Tony blinked blankly a few times, and then appeared to catch up to what Bucky was saying. “Wha-- No! She’s a spiteful harpy, but that manufactured insult wasn’t big enough to let her lay that much claim. It’s me she’s trying to hurt; you’re an unfortunate casualty. That’s why she pulled the whole thing with the receiving line. She wanted everyone to know that she’s claimed something that’s mine, and she wants everyone to _think_ she’s going to use you, because it’s a strike against my status. She might try to provoke you into saying something that will put you further in her debt, but if you just... be careful, don’t speak. Then she can’t touch you.”

“I swear,” Bucky said, “that I don’t understand dames.” Fae or otherwise. “How long can we get away with stayin’ here?” He was, in fact, terrified. Even if Sunset had wanted a roll, he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to manage it. The very alien nature of everything here wasn’t exactly putting him in a sexy mood. And he couldn’t decide what would be worse, if he got hard for her, or if he _didn’t_.

“As long as you like,” Tony promised. “Until the party is over, and then you’re bound. Come here, sit down.” He patted a vine-covered bench, or maybe it was bench made out of vines. “Will you tell me a tale? Something about you?”

“Shall I tell you about how I met Steve?” He sat very close to Tony, their knees almost touching. He wanted to stroke the fabric Tony was wearing, the way it seemed to be made from starlight, although he couldn’t have said how they made it, because there weren’t any stars here. The world seemed caught in eternal twilight, just after the sun was setting but before there were stars to twinkle.

“Yes, tell me,” Tony said.

“So, I’m all of a wee one, just barely learning my letters and math, an’ I’m walking home from school one afternoon--”

Bucky smiled, thinking back on those days when his biggest problems were Irish versus Italian block fights.

***

The funny thing about distance in the fae lands was that it didn’t make any sense. Walking seemed to be the only way people moved, inside the city, but it wasn’t anything like what Bucky would have called a city, either.

“Reality don’t stay still, around here,” Bucky complained, looking back the way they’d come in confusion. They’d walked through something like a springtime scene, cherry blossom petals sifting down through the air to cushion their steps as they walked, but when Bucky looked back, it was as if they’d surmounted a field of brambles, thick, dense, and dark.

“It all seems very normal to me,” Tony said. “Sometime you can tell me what you expect to happen, and I will be amazed at it.” He grinned. “My mother used to tell me about houses.”

“I don’t expect… anythin’ to happen,” Bucky scowled. “Usually when you walk down a street, it’s still there when you walk back. How do you not get lost?”

He knew he was fussing overly much about it to delay the inevitable, when he’d have to take his clothes off before ringing Sunset’s bell. If she had a bell to ring. Oh, _god_ , what if she had guests over? That would surely embarrass Tony, by way of absolutely mortifying _Bucky_.

“But if the streets stayed in the same place, how would you _get_ anywhere?” Tony wondered. “The whole point of a street is to take you places!” His step faltered a little, and he pointed. “That’s her.”

The… house, for lack of a better word, looked as if someone with too much gold and not enough good sense had the Parthenon loosely described to them. By a blind person. “You fae need better architects,” Bucky said. “So, uh… do I just… strip?”

Tony got that look on his face again that meant Bucky had said something that didn’t quite make sense. “Strip... Oh, the clothes! I’ve got it.” He brushed a hand lightly down Bucky’s chest and the clothes sort of... melted away, leaving Bucky naked in the street.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Bucky yelped, and him with only one hand to guard his dignity. At least it was relatively warm. “Warn a guy? An’ ring th’ damn bell before someone else sees me.”

“Ring...” Tony didn’t seem to get this one.

“Knock, send her a raven, let her know _we are here_ , if you don’t mind?” Bucky’s voice spiraled up in panic and heat spread from his cheeks down his throat and over his chest until he knew he was blotchy with it. Very attractive, really.

“Oh. Do humans use bells? That’s wonderful, you’ll have to tell me about it later!” Tony laid his hand against the door, his mouth twisting as if the very touch of it was distasteful. “Oh, one last thing --”

_Great, he’s gonna lecture me on proper behavior while I have my dick in my hand_ , Bucky thought.

“A little loan, if you want it,” Tony said. He seemed suddenly... almost shy? But he looked into Bucky’s eyes and touched two fingers to Bucky’s shoulder, very gently. Nothing happened for a moment, and then Bucky felt a little burst of wonder and laughter and joy. It seemed familiar, and then he realized that the laugh was... Tony’s? Tony laughing at -- and feeling amazed by -- one of the stories Bucky had told earlier. “If you want it,” Tony repeated. “Since I can’t be with you.”

Bucky touched the spot, not caring at all for the moment that he was completely naked in front of Tony-- and whoever else was probably watching. “No wonder she’s sore that you don’t love her,” he said, marvelling at it. “What a gift to have had, an’ to lose it.”

He didn’t have anything to give Tony for the loan, and there was a part of him that ached that he had nothing, nothing at all, to give back.

“Well, isn’t he lovely?” Sunset said. There wasn’t even the sound of a door opening. She was just suddenly… there. Looking at him. Leering at him. Like he was spun sugar and she was going to lick him right up.

He’d been worried about his cock responding to her, but even at that thought, he suppressed a shudder more of disgust than of longing. He didn’t want her, not even as a warm body. She was _loathsome_. He’d met frogs he’d want to cuddle with more.

“I’ll take good care of him,” Sunset told Tony, as if Bucky didn’t really exist. “He’ll lack for nothing.”

“I should hope not,” Tony said. “He’s a charge.” He looked directly at Bucky, eyes regretful. “Say nothing.”

Bucky nodded. He didn’t even dare say anything to Tony, for fear any words he might speak would be used against him.

_What a harpy._ He didn’t bother to cover himself again. She was already looking him over with evident delight, and to try to hide himself now would probably give her the pleasure of knowing that she was getting to him.

This was not how he’d planned to spend the evening after the Choosing. At home, the unChosen would have returned to their families, and there would be celebrations in the streets. Ostensibly to honor the Chosen, but really, to express relief.

He set his eyes just past Sunset, looking over her shoulder. He would, he decided, imagine himself home. Fiercely.

They stood in the street to watch Tony walk away. Tony didn’t turn to look back at all. He wasn’t hurrying, seemingly relaxed and calm, until between one step and the next, he was just gone.

Then they stood in the street a little longer, until Bucky began to suspect that she was _hoping_ someone would happen by to see him. But finally, she sighed and gestured toward the doorway. “Come in, darling. We have the whole night ahead of us -- isn’t it exciting?”

Not a word, Bucky told himself again. He followed her into her house, looking around curiously. They weren’t really even buildings, although he did have a decided sense that this place was both entirely private, and completely Sunset’s own. He couldn’t decide whether it kept the weather off, or there was simply no weather to deal with. It was not cold, but not particularly warm, in her dwelling place.

The floor was uncomfortably chilly against his bare toes, and slippery as well, as if it were made of waxed glass, glossy and reflective, showing Sunset her own reflection. And his.

“Now...” Sunset stepped back, eyeing him critically and then looking around, as if she had a new lamp and she were deciding where to put it to get the best light. “Where shall I display you?” she mused. “Come over here, stand right there,” she said, pointing.

Bucky contemplated the amount of beer he had planned to consume, while teasing Steve about how quickly his Irish ass would get fershnickered, allowing Sunset to arrange him as she wanted. She never quite touched him, which was a comfort. As if she _could not_ , without his permission, or without Tony’s. He wasn’t sure which.

Someone surely would have made bangers, and there would be mashed potatoes in every oven, smothered with butter. Sunset posed him several times until his stump ached and his feet hurt.

But eventually, she seemed to tire of that game and left him to stand where she’d put him. She fell gracefully against something shaped vaguely like a divan and studied him. “It’s really too bad you ended up with Tony,” she sighed. “I can think of _so many_ fun things to do with you. And Tony... Well, he’s very bright, of course, but you know what they say of half-breeds. Not quite all there. And you can _smell_ the human on him, it’s disgusting.”

Bucky didn’t give himself permission to clench his jaw at that; he was full human, did she think he smelled bad? Better than her, with her mustard seed and stale coriander. _Bein’ mean don’t make you smart, lady_. He knew he wasn’t supposed to talk, wasn’t supposed to say anything, but oh, she was goading him into a proper insult.

Probably on purpose.

Bucky let his breath out, slowly. Potatoes and butter. Beer and schnapps. Dancing in the streets, a pretty girl on each arm.

Not that-- Well, it was his fantasy dammit. If he wanted a pretty boy on his arm, he could have it, couldn’t he? The same rules need not apply.

The boy he imagined on his arm, then, dancing and drinking and singing songs, looked more than a little like Tony.

“People are terribly afraid of him, you know,” she said a bit later, as if confiding a great secret. “That’s why he’s still the prince. He doesn’t know the first thing about how to rule. I shudder to think what would happen if he ever took over as King.”

_All of you will get exactly what you deserve_ , Bucky thought spitefully. _No wonder you’re all scared of him._

“Of course, _you_ won’t have to worry about that. You’ll be long dead by then, sad little mortal.”

She got up and went somewhere, then came back with a plate shaped like a leaf (or a leaf that looked something like a plate) covered with fruit and nuts. “Would you like something to eat?”

He rather would, honestly, but he suspected that he’d also rather be dipped in honey and left out for poison ants than eat anything that Sunset had touched, or accept so much as a single bite that she had offered. He didn’t look at the plate, or at Sunset; kept his gaze on the-- wall? Watched his own reflection on the floor from time to time.

Remembered Tony’s laugh, and the way he’d touched Bucky, there, at the very end.

How the hell did a body tell what time it was around here? There weren’t any clocks, and even if there was a window, it was always twilight here.

Sunset walked around him slowly. “I know he hasn’t had time to bed you yet,” she said conversationally. “Did he tell you we were lovers? For _such_ a long time. He was so crushed when things ended between us. Sometimes I think he does these little things--” She waved at Bucky. “--just to try to get my attention again. But you’ll want to know, he’s... rather lacking, as a lover. Rough, inconsiderate, selfish...” She shook her head. “You won’t have a choice, of course, but eventually, when he’s tired of you, you’ll want to find someone who can actually please you. Someone capable of subtlety.”

Would Tony actually take him as a lover? Was that what the King wanted from Steve? He shuddered that thought away, and considered the other.

Tony, who seemed so concerned about Bucky’s comfort, his pain. He had a brief, pain-soaked memory of being carried tenderly and laid down on a bed of grass and leaves. He wondered if Tony’s mouth was as soft and supple as it looked.

That--

That was not something he should be thinking about while he was standing without a stitch on in front of someone who was the enemy.

Or, at least, was _Tony’s_ enemy.

And yet, once he got the idea in his head, his brain seemed determined to torture him with it -- Tony leaning over him, the nutmeg smell of his skin, the rich brown eyes, and the way his entire face lit up when he smiled. What would it be like, to take such a man, to let--

Bucky clamped his teeth down on a frustrated moan; his cock was too damn interested in those thoughts. He stared at the wall and tried not to acknowledge it.

Sunset laughed mockingly. “You can’t help but want him, can you? He’s put a glamour on you already. Well, at least it serves to make you more... decorative.”

Bucky stared at the wall. Kept his hand at his side.

This was going to be the longest night of his _damn life_.


	5. Bending, not Breaking

Tony sat in his workroom, turning Bucky’s knife over and over in his hands. He’d come in with the intention of studying the thing, perhaps seeing if he could try to duplicate its edge with his own tools and magic. But every time he looked at it, all he could think of was Bucky.

And Sunset.

She wouldn’t touch him. She couldn’t, not without Bucky’s permission. And Bucky seemed to have caught on to the way fae rules could easily get him in trouble.

But that wouldn’t stop her from trying to make him talk. It wouldn’t stop her from trying to get him to accept a gift that he would then be obligated to repay. It wouldn’t even stop her from continuing to humiliate him.

Tony’s hand clenched around the knife. Recalled to it, he tried to return his attention to it. Steel didn’t hold as fine an edge as obsidian, but it was far less breakable.

Like the humans, perhaps. Before Bucky, Tony had only ever really interacted with two humans: his mother, and Ambassador Coulson, who’d taken her place after she’d died. Both of them had been stubborn, proud of their heritage, unwilling to bend -- but not brittle. Being forced to bend hadn’t broken them.

His mother had even defied the King, in her way.

Fae who wanted a child willed them into existence; Howard had been entirely ignorant of the human method until Maria’s pregnancy had begun to show. He’d ordered her to reverse the pregnancy, and she had -- according to Court gossip -- laughed at him and told him such a thing wasn’t possible. When Tony was born, Howard had ordered her to leave the baby outside, at the border between the fae and human lands, to die or be taken in as fate willed it. She’d refused, and for reasons Tony didn’t understand, Howard hadn’t forced the issue.

She hadn’t _willed_ Tony, but she’d _wanted_ him, anyway. The King’s oath to an Ambassador included protection of their physical selves, and Maria had argued that, having grown inside her, Tony _was_ part of her physical self. Howard had reluctantly conceded, though Tony was certain the logic was loose enough for the King to untwist it.

But Howard had decreed that, in the future, he would take only male Ambassadors.

How he had come to accept Tony as the crown prince, Tony had never heard so much as a rumor, not even a whisper. One day he had simply appeared in the garden where Maria and Tony had been playing, thrust the silver circlet into Tony’s hands, and then gone away again. It had been Maria who’d taught him how to wear it, who’d taught him how to comport himself as a prince should.

He missed her dreadfully, even now. Ambassador Coulson, who’d followed her, had told him that was normal for humans. That it was Tony’s human blood yearning for her. Tony kept his grief hidden -- it would have seemed nonsense at best to fae sensibilities; madness at worst.

He wondered, idly turning Bucky’s knife in his fingers, whether she’d come to love Howard, or if her devotion had been glamour to the end.

Human love -- _real_ love, as she had insisted -- was a choice. How many choices had Howard given her? How many was he giving Steve, right now?

Tony already knew how many choices Sunset was offering Bucky: none. Only traps disguised as choice.

Howard was going to want to know what Tony was planning to do about Sunset. She’d scored too many points against him for it to go unnoticed and unremarked. He should be thinking about that. Or creating something useful and beautiful that would bolster his status.

He turned the knife over in his hands and wondered what torments Sunset was visiting on Bucky.

***

Bucky was nearly sobbing with exhaustion by the time the night ended. He still didn’t know how to tell time; he made a note before his brain devolved into endless babbling that he would need Tony to teach him.

His legs ached, his thighs were trembling. 

“Do you think it must nearly be morning?” Sunset had taunted him half a dozen times, and still, the night didn’t end. She’d taken off all her clothing and danced for him, and even though he didn’t _want_ to want her, he might as well have tried to stop needing to breathe. She was lithe and beautiful, the beansidhe of legend, who could sing men to her side for the purpose of killing them between her pale thighs.

His feet ached, his toes were numb with the chill from the floor. Whatever it was made from, Bucky thought it was magically enchanted. The heat from his skin never warmed it. It wasn’t quite like standing on ice, but the difference was so slight that he couldn’t have said what, exactly, it was. 

He almost fell asleep a dozen times.

Sunset offered him the gift of her bed, but he didn’t accept.

His stomach complained that it was empty.

Sunset offered him food and drink. She even promised human food, teasing that she knew how to obtain such rarities as meat and cheese. He did his best to ignore her.

Finally, finally, the night ended.

Sunset stretched, still naked, and conjured herself a robe of newly fallen leaves, a deep red that complemented her skin and features. “It’s been delightful,” she told him. “I feel quite satisfied. How do you feel?”

_Like I need to fucking piss_ , Bucky thought resentfully.

“So, I have something for you-- a gift,” she said. This again? Would she never learn? He wasn’t going to take the meanest scrap from her.

“It’s a simple thing,” she said, “and your acceptance of this humble offering will be its own repayment.” She held up-- clothes. A simple, linen shirt and trousers. _Human clothes_. “If you accept my gift, you may wear them as we go to the Court, where I will return you to your love.” She moved the shirt and showed what was under it.

A dog collar.

Bucky closed his eyes.

“Or, refuse my gift, and we will walk to Court as we are now.”

Bucky took a deep breath, willing himself calm, willing himself composed. He wasn’t even sure he could walk to Court. He was that exhausted, that weary. His legs were holding him up, but walking-- 

He lifted his chin and met her gaze. Her eyes, he noticed, were deep, rich brown, and there were flecks of red that danced there, like her eyes were made from coals, almost burned out, but still hot and angry. He indicated the door with a jerk of his chin.

She wasn’t going to beat him.

She was _not_.

If he fell in the street, collapsed naked in front of the Court, wouldn’t that prove she was unworthy of a human charge? That she couldn’t take care of one for the entire evening.

“Really?” Sunset marveled. “You’re braver than I thought. They will laugh at you.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. Like he cared what the fae thought of him. They were never going to see him as worthy of being kindly treated or respected. Seeing him naked might amuse them, the way humans were both amused and disgusted by a dog licking its balls.

But it wouldn’t change anything.

His neck burned, but he knew it was true.

It didn’t change anything.

_Let’s go, then, bitch._

Every step was a fresh hell, a jolt of agony through his exhausted muscles, pain that never faded, until he wondered if it was something Sunset was doing to him in addition to his own body.

And then they rounded an enormous stone and Tony was there, leaning idly against it as if he’d merely stopped to enjoy the day. He was wearing a shirt woven of new love, trousers made from the very first flower to bloom in the spring, and the silver circlet shone like moonbeams against his dark hair.

He looked Bucky over, toes to top, his expression never changing from that of idle interest. “The debt is paid,” he told Sunset.

“Tony,” she said, that creampot smile painting her face. It was like glass, sharp and brittle. “Such a lovely morning. We are going to Court.”

“So we are,” Tony agreed. He straightened and stepped to one side to reveal a door in the boulder where Bucky could have sworn no door had been before. Tony’s smile grew just a little sharper as he gestured. “After you.”

Sunset took a breath barely deeper than the one before, but she obviously couldn’t stretch it out any further. She raised her chin, taking the act of entering before the Prince as some sort of bolster to her status, and swept within, all the grace of a queen.

Bucky felt like falling to his knees in front of Tony would somehow be appropriate, and didn’t do it anyway. After this hellish night, he was going to kneel to _no one_ ; not without some damn explanations.

Also, he wasn’t sure he could get back up once he left himself falter.

Tony touched Bucky’s arm lightly, and the memory he’d left with Bucky faded. And then clothes appeared, fae but simple, common and comforting, the scent of baking bread and the feel of a baby’s skin. “What do you need?” he asked.

Bucky rasped his tongue over chapped lips, trying to force his mouth to work, dry as it was. He was thirsty, he was hungry, he was achingly weary. And there was still _Court_. Was he going to be expected to, what, accompany Tony to the business of the day?

He swallowed, and his throat was so dry it hurt. Tears prickled at his eyes and he didn’t mean it to happen, but he was so… done. He wanted to go home so much that he couldn’t breathe.

“Jus’--” The tears spilled over. “Jus’ sleep.” It was probably the very most he’d be allowed. He didn’t understand the rules here, and it was going to kill him.

Tony dragged his hand over the arch of the door and the scene beyond... changed. It looked familiar, the leafy bed that Bucky had woken up on -- Christ, only yesterday? “Sleep, then,” Tony said. “There will be food and water when you awaken.” He touched Bucky’s face, light as a butterfly wing. “It will be safest if you stay in the room until I return.”

Bucky was almost positive he could sleep for a week and never notice. He wasn't sure he could carry himself the next twenty feet to the bed and he still needed to piss. God, he hoped faeries didn't just wish it away.

He didn’t give voice to any of it, just grunted and limped across the room. The door closed behind him like it had never existed. There was a slipper tub -- or a faerie equivalent, made from polished nacre, like the inside of a seashell that had never seen the ocean -- and a few other items that Bucky decided to believe were meant for his toilet, and used them. Then very slowly, he dipped a cloth into the hot water and washed his feet and legs. How it had stayed hot until he needed it, he didn’t even want to know. He could feel the muscles in his calves straining, just tempting him to curl his toes. It would be a mistake.

He splashed his face, and then his legs let him know that they weren’t going to put up with this shit anymore.

He collapsed into the bed, not even bothering to settle the blanket over him.

He was asleep before his face touched the pile of leaves.

***

Tony couldn’t get out of Court, of course. Nor could he escape the lecture from Howard that followed afterward. But as soon as he could, Tony fled back to his rooms. He didn’t want to leave Bucky alone any longer than he had to. And he didn’t want to encounter Steve, either, and be asked about Bucky’s welfare.

Bucky was sound asleep when Tony got there, and Tony let out a sigh of relief. Bucky hadn’t eaten much at the Welcoming party, and Sunset certainly hadn’t fed him. Tony summoned an entire feast, bread and fruit and honey and nuts. The clearest water, the sweetest juices. He arranged everything and then sank onto his chair and watched Bucky sleep.

He was still a beautiful man, though that hadn’t -- entirely -- been the reason Tony had wanted him. Tony wasn’t sure _what_ had compelled that impulse, or where it might lead. It was a riddle, a puzzle, something that intrigued him more and more the longer he pondered it.

Bucky shifted, made a soft, pained whine. He drew his legs up, and even under the blanket of fresh leaves, Tony could see the unnatural position. With a sudden, strangled gasp, Bucky sat bolt upright in the bed, his entire torso straining as he reached for his leg.

Not even noticing Tony, not looking around at all, Bucky let slip a few swears, another sharp inhalation of pain. He winced and whined and pushed himself upright, throwing the blanket off, struggling with his one hand. “Fuck, Jesus _bleeding_ Christ, fuckin’ charley horse--”

The leg was strained, taut, and his toes curled in, the tendons in his foot vivid against his skin.

“Let me help,” Tony said. He crossed the room to sit on the floor, wrapping his hands around the base of Bucky’s leg.

The muscles jumped and quivered under Tony’s hand, and Bucky practically threw himself back, covering his face with his arm and uttering a strangled cry, partly muffled by his arm. “Jesus, that-- hurts--”

“I know,” Tony said, sliding his thumbs smoothly along the misbehaving muscle. It was indeed like a wild horse, untamed and suddenly frantic in its bonds. He didn’t know what a charley was, though. He pressed into the muscle, letting it know that it was safe, that it would be cared for, much as he would soothe a stag that he meant to ride, a firm but gentle touch.

Bucky made another noise, a deep, throaty sort of moan, and he went mostly pliant under Tony’s hands, except for the stubborn muscle that kept getting close to settling, and then would wind right back up until Bucky was whimpering in pain. Long moments passed as Tony worked his thumbs and fingers into the cringing, overstressed muscle, and then finally, Bucky hitched in a deep breath and let it out. He let his legs splay, a little, spreading his thighs, and his eyelashes fluttered against his cheek. 

He wet his lips, sucking that bottom one in to chew at it. His jaw worked like he was going to say something, but as Tony kept rubbing and massaging Bucky’s leg, he subsided, relaxing into it.

Even after the muscle had been subdued, Tony kept working it, not wanting it to suddenly recall its panic. When he was reasonably certain the pain had passed, he shifted until he could reach the other leg, and began again. Surely, if one leg had rebelled, the other would be nearing a similar state.

“Oh, god,” Bucky groaned, pulling a handful of the leaf blanket over his face. “You don’ gotta--” he broke it off with another garbled noise. The skin on the side of his neck, all Tony could see of his face, was as pink as a berry.

“What good is served, if you’re left to suffer?” Tony asked. He eyed the flush spreading down Bucky’s throat. “Is this a human thing? Do you wish not to be touched?”

Bucky snorted under the blanket, then coughed, before finally emerging. “I think I want to be touched a little too much,” he said. “Which is why you should stop.”

That... that didn’t make any sense at all. “How can you want something too much?”

“Isn’t that what-- ain’t that the fairy game? Find a human that wants what only you can give ‘em? I-- look, I almost died three times in less’n the last day, I ain’t thinkin’ clear and I know I gotta, if I’mma-- ha, I almost said _if I’m going to get out of this_. But I’m not, am I? That’s the whole point, right there. I’m not going to get out of this. I don’t get to go home when it’s over. This is… this is never going to be over.” Bucky wiped angrily at his eyes, even though he wasn’t weeping.

Well, _eventually_ it would be over. Humans and even fae didn’t live forever. That probably would not comfort Bucky, however. Tony let go of Bucky’s leg and sat next to him on the bed, instead. “You could... win free,” he said slowly. “You’re not bound by the Ambassador’s oath, the way your friend is.”

Bucky shook his head. “He actually swore it? I wouldn’ have thought he would. Wanted to do some good in the world, Steve said. Told him this was good-- the Ambassador. One life, in exchange for millions. It’s a sacrifice, that’s what they say. But-- it wouldn’t matter. I come out that hole, an’ I’ll just be arrested for bringin’ steel against the King. It don’t matter that I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t never gonna try to hurt anyone with that knife, it’s just-- it’s just a tool, it… it was my grandfather’s. I didn’t want to lose it, an’ they didn’t give us time, to you know, go home and spiff up, just grabbed us off the work line and out of the breadlines and shoved us on a train. If you’re of age, off you go.”

“That seems wrong,” Tony said, frowning. “It’s not... the Ambassador isn’t a terrible thing to be. Is it? Do humans think it’s a sacrifice?”

“We don’t volunteer,” Bucky said. “When you’re eighteen, on your birthday, you get cake, candles, and a stamped card that says you’re of age to be selected. Then, when the Ambassador dies, they round up ever’one who’s got that stamp, and take ‘em to the field. No one knows what sort of decision they base it on, but I didn’t notice no swells in that group. Just us workin’ joes that no one’s got money to miss.”

Tony wondered how much his father knew about how the humans selected the candidates. He wondered if Howard _cared_.

This wasn’t anything that Ambassador Coulson had told him about. Had his mother been ripped from the arms of her family? Tony shivered.

“Hey,” Bucky said, his hand fluttering out near Tony’s chin. “Hey, listen at me a second. I’m-- before. When we were on th’ tram. I said I’d come. If I was picked, that I’d _want_ to go. So… here I am. Ain’t how I planned it, but… and Steve. He didn’t say no, did he? We don’t choose to be in front of the King, but ain’t nobody stagin’ a rebellion against the choosing, either.”

“Still,” Tony said. “They should give you time. To say farewell. To pack a memento, maybe.” That was a word his mother had used. It was a foreign concept, the idea of an object that held a _copy_ of a memory. She had never explained how one put the memory into the object while still keeping it for oneself, and Tony hadn’t ever managed it on his own. He could store them, the way the fae did, but once it was opened, it was gone. “Not iron or a weapon, obviously, but...” He shrugged. “I can’t... I can’t apologize. I don’t have enough status to take on a debt that large. I’m not sure anyone ever could, except maybe the King -- but he wouldn’t be the King, after. But if I could, I would.”

“It ain’t a matter to be sorry about,” Bucky said. “It’s just the way the world is. Ain’t nobody ask to be hit by a car, neither. No one asked the horse what they thought about it. Just happens. Storms roll in. As we say, _shit happens_.”

“That is a very strange thing to say,” Tony told him. “Shit doesn’t just _happen_ , it’s _created_.”

“Beats cryin’ about how unfair everythin’ is,” Bucky said. He sat up, letting the sheet pool around him. “So, uh, this seems as good -- or bad -- a time as any, but… you wanna lay it out for me. Sunset says I ain’t got a choice, but you might as well tell me as not. What’s the play here, boss?”

“No plays,” Tony said, confused again. Was he ever going to be able to understand Bucky’s words? “Though such diversion happens from time to time.”

“Didn’ your mom teach you how to talk,” Bucky wondered. “Sure, she was probably as old as my gram, but-- nevermind. I mean… tell me what you expect _of me_. Sunset thinks you hit me with a whammy already, an’ you’re gonna use me up and throw me out. As a bed partner.” He flushed again, staring at his knees. “That’s what everyone thinks, right? Humans, too. That we’re just… bedplay toys for you.”

Really, Sunset was earning more and more of Tony’s ill will. He was going to have to do something to her. Soon. But in the meantime, Bucky was an alarming shade of dark pink, and wasn’t looking at Tony. And Tony... wanted Bucky to look at him again. “I can’t say it’s never happened,” he admitted, waving at himself by way of evidence. “But it’s not _all_ you are to us. It’s not even...” He shook his head and tried again. “Sunset is... adept at reading others’ fears, and turning them to suit her own purposes.”

“I wasn’t _afraid--_ ” Bucky protested. “I mean, her, yeah. Talk about maneater. That one’ll kill you as soon as kiss you. But I ain’t afraid of it. I just want to know-- I’m… I don’t know what I’m s’posed to do here, an’ I reckon you didn’t much plan it out, neither. So what are we going to do now?”

That had a layer of warmth over it. Tony seldom found himself included in a _we_ in any sort of manner that meant anything pleasant. Sometimes his father would use a _we_ at him, but Howard wielded it like a club. This was more… an invitation to conspire.

“The first thing we should do,” Tony said, “is lay out the rules for you, so you don’t end up owing more than you can pay.”


	6. The Rules of Play

Bucky had heard stories, before, about how men in car accidents were broken, not because of striking another vehicle, but because of the force involved just in stopping movement. Whiplash, they called it, from the days of carriages and horses.

If whiplash could be used to describe an emotional state, that was where Bucky was. He needed to buckle a brace around his heart and hold it still, needed to rein in his brain and make it stop.

He’d almost, almost confessed to Tony that not only was he not scared of the idea of being Tony’s bedpartner, but that he _wanted_ it.

_You can’t help but want him._

And Tony’s idea of telling him the rules included giving him gifts. Or an exchange of gifts, more exactly, because Tony didn’t want to indebt him.

Although Tony’s idea of a _gift_ was terrifying.

He plucked several thoughts right out of Bucky’s head, memories, and sealed them in jars, like they were jelly. Bucky could even see the tiny version of himself in the past, acting the scene over and over, even if he could no longer remember it himself. 

An afternoon where Bucky had learned a difficult math concept; his sister’s first birthday party, the year they’d had enough money to buy cake, and Becca had smeared the whole thing over her face; and one date with Dottie, when they’d danced in a filthy alley to music they could hear through the wall, because neither of them had a dime to get inside. These prizes had earned Bucky more material goods than he’d had in his lifetime. Cloth, both formed into clothes and still raw. An entire set of dishes carved, it seemed, from jade. Jewels to adorn more fingers than Bucky had.

“Seriously?” Bucky asked, when Tony offered a long rope of black pearls.

Tony blinked and looked at them, then glanced over at the jars. “It’s a fair trade,” he said earnestly. “I wouldn’t cheat you; you’re my _charge_.”

“Ain’t a matter of you cheatin’ me,” Bucky said. “They’re just a few memories from when I was a kid, I got thousands of ‘em. They’re not even _special_ memories.”

“I know you have no reason to trust me,” Tony said, expression carefully neutral, “but memories are very valuable. You should never admit that you don’t find them precious. They’re your... your _you_. Human or fae, without memories, we’re... helpless.”

“Well, yeah, I guess,” Bucky said. He tipped the little jar again, fascinated. “It’s so weird. Usually memories just… are. Nothin’ works like it’s s’posed to, around here. Where I’m from, the door always opens to the same room. Memories stay in your head, unless you forget ‘em. An’ gratitude is a thing people _say_ , not a warm spot on your skin.”

Tony looked fascinated. “I wish I could visit the human lands,” he said. “They sound _wonderful_. Weird.”

“Yeah, I miss the sun,” Bucky said. “And starlight. Funny, I’ve only been gone, what… a day an’ a half. And this endless twilight is so… freaky.”

“The sun was _far_ too bright,” Tony said. “I’d seen it in pictures and memories, but I had no idea it was like _that_.”

Bucky wasn’t even thinking about what he was doing; he reached out and took Tony’s hand, rubbing his thumb over Tony’s fingers. “Just imagine what it’s like at night,” Bucky said. “No sun at all, an’ it’s dark. But not totally dark. The moon’s out an’ its all yellow and low in the sky, and stars, and everywhere’s gas lighting, these little glowing jars, like your fairy globes, but they’re little tiny flames of burning gas. You can walk down the street an’ see everyone inside, cookin’ dinner and sitting around. Ma’s doing the sewing, brothers are tusslin’ on the floor. And it’s like you have the whole world to yourself, but you can see a little peek inside everyone else’s world at the same time. It’s a powerful feelin’. And a bit lonely.”

Tony’s mouth fell open and he stared at Bucky. “I can’t... this is too beautiful a memory to give me, Bucky.”

“I ain’t givin’ it to you,” Bucky said. “It’s not a _gift_. You don’t owe me for it. It’s… I’m sharin’ it. It’s what humans do. We share things.”

Tony frowned. “The fae share,” he said slowly. “Some things. Share a meal, share a dance, share pleasure. But with sharing, each of us gets something, some part of the thing being shared.”

“Oh, I’m gettin’ something out of this,” Bucky said. “You really-- how many fae, do you think? We talk about _the hordes_ , but there can’t be more than a couple thousand of you, total?”

“In the Summer Lands,” Tony agreed. “The Winter Lands are said to be overrun.” He shuddered.

“There are _millions_ of humans,” Bucky said. “Two _billion_ , at least. We could match numbers with you, a hundred thousand to one, even with the Winter Lands. I’m… I ain’t _important_ , Tony. Not in th’ grand scheme of nothing. Never been important to anyone but Steve. You’re _listening_. You… you care. That’s what I’m getting out of this.”

There Bucky went, as his Ma would have said, pinning his heart on his sleeve.

 “Oh.” Tony’s eyes were very wide. “That’s... That’s very _real_ , the way that feels, that’s... All right, that’s... sharing.”

“‘Course it’s _real_ ,” Bucky said. He brushed it off. “So, we got gifts an’ favors down. I got a whole room full of stuff an’ half a dozen favors owed. I’m, what, somewhat above scrapin’ poor for a fae? We got _politeness_ , which is pretty damn cutthroat, if you ask me. An’ we got all the proper forms of address.”

Honestly, the easiest thing to do would be to defer to Tony, constantly. To ask his permission to answer questions, or ask them. To stand behind him, or sit near his feet. To allow Tony to, as he’d say, _take care_ of Bucky. That would keep him out of trouble, but it would also be leaning on Tony’s status, constantly.

Bucky would have no status at all on his own.

And _status_ , Bucky was learning, meant more to the fae than diamonds. It was… the highest degree of worth. It didn’t come with land or property, or even as far as Bucky could tell, responsibility. It was “how many fae owe me favors when the shit goes down?” It was like living in a warzone.

“You are also my charge, which is worth something, though I strongly advise you not to trade it. And you have the favor of the Ambassador, which is not altogether worthless, especially now, while he’s new. We should arrange for you to be seen together.”

“I’d like to see Stevie again,” Bucky said. “Has-- the King’s glammed him up, right? That’s why he smells… what’s that like, being glamoured?”

Tony shrugged. “I don’t really know. I’m... I’m not _immune_ to glamour, but it feels to me like... another layer of clothing. Whether that’s pleasant or not depends on the purpose of the glamour, and who laid it. The old Ambassador, he said to him it was like... floating in the water, letting the current carry him.”

“Is there anything I can do about it?” Bucky wondered. “Aside from not getting the whammy put on me in the first place?”

Tony considered it. “Some are able to throw off a glamour; we could try it sometime. It wouldn’t be permitted in the Court, of course, but when you’re out and about... I could make you an iron ring to wear, to protect you.”

“Out of what? My old knife?” Bucky looked around; that item was in its place of honor on the stump of a tree that seemed to also be the table, a chest of drawers, and a light source all at the same time.

“No, you said that was precious!” Tony said. “I have some iron in my workshop. Which we should visit soon, anyway, so I can measure you for an arm.”

“You have _iron_?” Bucky felt his eyes stretch wide. “How? I thought-- I thought that was like, bad for you.”

Really bad. The fae didn’t _die_ , not like humans did, of old age, or ill health. But they could be killed. And nothing killed them faster than iron. Even a scratch could be lethal. Steel was good, but the old stuff, cold iron, that was even better. They couldn’t even come near it. Which was, of course, why human houses kept horseshoes above the door.

Why so many people carried a nail in their pocket.

Well, obviously Tony could touch it because he was part-human. Bucky didn’t quite understand what Tony had meant by that “slightly less than half.” But maybe his mother had been a little bit Fae. A lot of people were.

Bucky wondered how that worked.

Everyone heard stories of fairies, how they’d come and lead you off the path and into the swamp. How they’d pretend to be beggars and rain blessings (or curses) down on people’s heads. A few people had claimed to see them, and Bucky’s Ma had a keepsake that she said was a lock of hair from a kelpie who’d stopped to ask if she wanted a ride.

Ma had been engaged at the time, and refused it.

But-- huh. Bucky shook his head. He was going to spend all day with questions and never get any closer to the truth.

“Yeah, human blood lets me handle iron. It feels a little tingly, but that’s it. My workshop is _way_ over on the outskirts of the city, away from anyone else, of course, but there was a smith who was in favor for a while who taught me how to work gold and silver, and when we realized I could touch iron, I started experimenting with it.” He picked up Bucky’s hand, examining the fingers, touching them, strangely both intimate and detached at the same time. “A filigree ring with a couple of runes built into it wouldn’t be enough iron to hurt anyone walking by, but it would keep anyone from laying a glamour on you without your permission.”

“And what would that cost me?” Bucky asked, leaning toward Tony with some mix of eagerness and trepidation.

Tony’s head cocked slightly as he studied Bucky’s face. “Not very much,” he said. “It’s such a small trinket... A memory of drifting off to sleep, warm and safe in your bed. Or... a kiss.”

“Well that's a bargain at twice the price,” Bucky said. His blood went hot and his throat went dry. “Half now, half on delivery.” And before Tony could figure out how to produce half a kiss, Bucky leaned into it.

Letting his mouth brush over Tony's lips. Soft and warm and gentle.

When he pulled back, Tony was still staring at him. “You...” He touched his lower lip. “You wanted that?”

“Did you not?” Bucky wanted to brush his fingers over Tony's lip. Wanted to dip in and try it again. Didn't do either.

“Of course I did.” Tony looked a little surprised. “You’re _beautiful_. But I was under the impression that humans were more... reserved. You’ve known me two days. And they haven’t been good ones for you.”

“They have not,” Bucky agreed because that was a stone cold fact. “Which is where _take comfort where you can get it_ comes from.” He glanced at Tony, shy suddenly. “And you're very beautiful, too.”

“That’s just because I’m fae,” Tony said wryly. “Natural glamour. Give it some time; you’ll learn to tune it out. This is... a comfort? For humans?”

“Well yeah,” Bucky said. “Didn't your mom kiss you? It can be a charm in the darkness. To seal with a kiss, they say. And it's not like you're gonna tell anyone that I'm a good time boy.”

He watched Tony's face for a long moment, then added, “You're all I got, here, you know.”

He thought he had Steve. He might have Steve. But Steve also had the King now, and… Bucky didn't know. 

Besides, glamour or no, Tony was beautiful.

And Bucky didn't think it was the glamour .

***

Tony waited impatiently for Court to disperse. He’d never much enjoyed it, and now, leaving Bucky alone in his rooms made him unpleasantly anxious. And today, he had more reason than ever to fetch Bucky as quickly as he could.

As soon as they were dismissed, he hurried back, practically vibrating with glee. “Bucky!”

“This is the weirdest book I ever seen,” Bucky said, looking up. He had a copy of _Tales_ open, the enormous book laying over his knees. The cover was thick and bound of trollhide, and the entire book was an enchanted version of fae history, but what it would choose to show a reader varied on both the reader involved and the mood of the book itself. Sometimes it would show history as it was being written, and other days bring up stories so old they were nearly lost.

“It can be temperamental,” Tony agreed. “Leave it for now. We have a visit to make.”

Bucky closed the book with some effort -- it apparently didn’t want to be closed, but leaving it open and unattended could be dangerous. Bucky patted the book fondly and it seemed to subside. “Yeah? The King said yes?”

“He said yes,” Tony agreed. “Possibly because he won’t be in the city at all today, and can’t take the Ambassador with him, but...” Tony shrugged. “Come now, and we’ll dine with him.”

Bucky scrambled for his favorite clothes, the winter jacket and the boots made from the edge of a shadow. They were strange choices for the fae, but somehow, Bucky tied the outfit together and looked _good_. “Do we, uh, need to bring a gift? Either for the Ambassador or for Steve?” Bucky had been quick to understand that there were many different aspects to a fae, and that each, or none, might require a favor.

He was, in fact, quite bright. Tony had grown up hearing how stupid humans were, which was why Howard didn’t have any expectations of Tony’s worth, but Tony was starting to wonder how true any of that was.

“Whether you bring a gift for your friend is your choice,” Tony said. “You know him best. But we will bring a token for the Ambassador, yes.” He took a bottle of wine from his stores, berries crushed while still on the vine and distilled with honeysuckle nectar. “This should suffice.”

Bucky looked around in his stash of things, stored neatly in a mushroom trunk. “This will do,” he said, tucking a very brightly colored-- almost garish -- cushion that one of the courtiers had given Bucky, a backhanded insult about Bucky and the fact that he was not kneeling at Tony’s feet. “He’ll hate it.”

“Why would you give a friend something you know he’ll hate?” Tony wondered, even as he led Bucky back toward the palace.

“Because it’s Steve,” Bucky said. “And it’s a long story. You’ll owe me at least two favors for telling it. Are you sure you want it?”

Tony laughed, delighted. “Perhaps. We might not have time for it now, but I will consider it.”

The King’s Garden was a very sought-after location; it moved at the whim of the King and sometimes threw faeries out of their own homes with no notice. It was where Howard found most beautiful at the moment he was wishing to be within, and it would stay there until he decided to enter again.

At the moment, the Garden was somewhere near the top of the High Hills, looking out over all the Summerlands. Tony entertained the thought that Howard was showing off for his new Ambassador, wanting to make Steve as impressed as possible.

Which was fair, he had to concede. He wanted Bucky to be impressed and happy, too. He couldn’t help but turn to watch Bucky’s expression as they crossed the threshold and the view spread out below them.

“Looks like th’ Garden of Eden,” Bucky commented, walking through the trees, looking over the mountainside and down into the valley. 

Tony wondered what that was, whether it was beautiful, whether it was some human place that Bucky had fond memories of. Was being reminded of it good? Painful? Both?

The Ambassador was waiting for them in the heart of the gardens, near a lavender bower, letting his fingers test the waters of one of the glacier rivers. 

“Ambassador,” Tony greeted him. “A fair day to you. May we make this gift to you?” He offered the wine.

Steve rose from his sitting place with the grace of a god, draped in clothes made from sunlight and soft grass and the smell of apple blossom. “Prince Anthony,” he said, with a bow. “I would be delighted to sample your gift, if you will accept this, from me.” He handed Tony a rose, a flower as familiar to him as it was almost ugly and lopsided. It was from a bush that his mother had tried, desperately, to transplant to a fae garden. It was a stubborn bush and continued to not die, but it produced a bloom only rarely, and usually only when someone touched it with a kind hand. 

Tony accepted the rose, cupping it carefully in his hands and lifting it to his face to breathe in the sweet-bitter scent. “Someone has been teaching you the history of things,” he guessed.

“Not without some reluctance, and I don’t think the King was pleased, but I thought you would cherish it,” Steve said. Then he rolled his eyes with a very human sigh of exasperation. “Have we satisfied the niceties?”

“I’m surprised you weren’t spitting through your fingers and tossin’ salt over your shoulder,” Bucky said. “This place’s gotta play out terribly to all your Irish heritage.”

“What’s that mean?” Tony asked, curious. He took a seat, fingers idly brushing the velvety texture of the rose petals.

Steve shoved at Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky staggered back a step, off balance for a moment, then he laughed. “Gonna take somethin’ else to get used to that,” Bucky said. “Bet you could hand that guy on the train his head now without so much as an excuse me.” He removed the cushion from his carry sack. “Here, for you. It ain’t the couch cushions at home, but you can still shine my shoes.”

Thoroughly confused now, and equally fascinated, Tony watched their faces. This was better than music, better than a play.

Steve scowled, fierce and close to angry, snatched the cushion away from Bucky and then struck Bucky in the face with it. “Jerk!”

“Yeah, I’mma need a better nickname for you, now. You’re too damn tall to be anyone’s punk,” Bucky told him. “It’s so _weird_. What happened?”

Steve sat down, gesturing for Bucky to do the same. “He handed me something to drink an’ said drink it.”

“Did it hurt?”

“A little,” Steve responded.

“Is it permanent?”

“So far.” Steve rumbled, trying to arrange the cushion somewhere comfortably. “Feel like someone’s dolled up, dancing monkey, honestly.”

“Yeah, you look like it, too,” Bucky said, and Steve gave up trying to wrestle the cushion into submission and settled for throwing it at Bucky’s head. Bucky batted it aside with his one hand, and it hit Tony in the shoulder instead before tumbling into the grass.

Tony picked it up, bemused. “I thought you were friends?”

“Yeah, you should see what his enemies look like,” Bucky said. “Half of ‘em got bloody knuckles from tryin’ to break through his hard skull.”

“I just don’t like bullies,” Steve said. “I don’t care where they’re from.”

Tony hummed, tipped his head a little to study the Ambassador. “And has the King been a bully to you?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t rightly know, yet,” he said. “He wants something from me, but he won’t explain it, an’ he knows if I’m-- you know, exaggeratin’ the truth. He gets right cross with me, but-- he wants me to like it here. Love it, really. Which--”

“You don’t.”

“I don’t.”

“You’ve only been here a few days,” Tony pointed out. “Perhaps you could grow to love it, in time?” If Steve could not love the Summerlands, what did that mean for Bucky, whose introduction to them was so much worse?

“Know me, and you will love me?” Steve wondered.

“Familiarity breeds contempt,” Bucky responded.

“There should be more I can do than sitting around on a cushion and pretending to be enraptured by whatever the King’s goin’ on about today,” Steve said. “The treaty between our people ought to be more than ‘you do what we say, or we’ll kill you all.’ The fae have _real problems_ , and they’re things we could help with, but they don’t even consider the humans as allies. More like… vassals.”

“What problems could you help with, if you were permitted?” Tony asked.

“Supply, for one,” Steve said. “Your people-- some of them aren’t skilled in glamour, and they’re starving to death of it. There are other ways to get food aside from magicking it up. I ain’t a farmer, but you’re not usin’ the land.”

Well, that could get him in trouble with the Court, for certain. Fae did not _toil_ , they were not… _humans_. They didn’t plant grains or mill wheat. Magic was what made the fae… well, the fae. “You may encounter some... cultural differences, trying to introduce such an idea,” Tony said, as diplomatically as he could. “I can’t imagine even the hungriest fae agreeing to farm.”

“So bring in migrant humans,” Steve suggested with a shrug. “There’s plenty dispossessed there, who’d come in, work a season. Pair ‘em up with brownies and leprechauns, who can talk the plants into growing. You have enough gold and riches here to make a human very comfortable, out in the real world. Open the borders.” 

Tony choked and sputtered on the air. “Do you have any idea-- No. No, of course you don’t. The borders keep out more than the humans. They also protect us -- and you! -- from the Winter Court.”

“The King’s been makin’ that face a lot, too,” Steve pointed out. “He showed me a memory of your mother, when I made the mistake of sayin’ you looked a lot like him. The comparison didn’t go over well.” 

Tony laughed, short and verging on bitter. “I imagine not,” he said. “To fae eyes, I am _tainted_. Grotesque and misbegotten -- quite literally. The King has no affection for me, nor any wish to see his reflection in the twisted mirror of my face.”

“Fathers who don’t value their sons aren’t uncommon in the real world, either,” Steve said. He didn’t quite pat Tony on the back, but Tony could see the impulse, strangled. “They usually meet sticky ends.”

“No such justice rules the Summer Lands.” Tony got to his feet, dropping the nearly-forgotten cushion. “But we arranged this meeting so that you two could be together. I won’t intrude any longer.” He touched Bucky’s shoulder lightly as he made his way out of the central grotto to wander the rest of the garden.

 


	7. The Sluagh's Bargain

Bucky looked up at the sky -- it was twilight. 

How… useless. He took a few skipping steps to catch up with Tony. He’d learned the hard way in a few of his wanderings that the paths and hallways didn’t like him. He’d walk down a hall and get too far away from Tony’s quarters, and find himself in the middle of a mountain of fire. On the edge of a cliff. And on one particularly distressing occasion, he found himself on a cloud.

It wasn’t a prison, Tony kept telling him, but some days, it sure felt like it.

Tony’s duties at Court kept him occupied most mornings, and personal errands often kept him out at night.

Steve had visited Tony’s chambers as a returning of the gift of Bucky’s time, but he didn’t see much of Steve, either.

At least Sunset hadn’t shown up, that was one relief.

“Where are we going today?” Bucky wondered. He wasn’t allowed, or welcome, on many of Tony’s visits. Bucky wasn’t sure if it was fear of what Bucky might do or say, and bring shame on Tony, or because the fae were so bigoted.

Tony turned to grin at him, walking backwards. “My workshop! We have struck a bargain, have we not, for a ring for you? And I will measure you for an arm, though that is more than a single day’s work.”

Bucky watched the landscape spin around behind Tony’s back, as if it were trying to choose the path for him, but it solidified under his feet with every step. As if Tony’s will alone tamed it.

“What -- what do you mean, make me an arm?” Bucky cupped the bottom of his stump. Sometimes it itched, like his skin was trying to peel back from the bone, a burning, angry pain. And Tony could soothe it with a touch.

Tony frowned slightly. “I don’t know what’s confusing about the phrase,” he admitted after a moment, “so I don’t know how to clarify it.”

“So, like a hook hand?” Bucky asked. He’d seen a few people with rusty, clunky peg legs, and not all that long ago, had read a piece in the paper about the Iron Lung that helped kids with polio be able to breathe. But out and out, a replacement limb was a poor substitute for the real thing. A shape to fill an empty sleeve, held on with straps and causing the wearer more pain than it seemed it was worth.

“I admit, I thought fingers would be more useful,” Tony said slowly, “but if you’d really rather have a hook, I suppose I could make that. I mean, you’re human, so there’s only so much magic I can put in the thing. You won’t be able to change its shape.”

Bucky pushed his tongue around in his mouth. “You know, humans ain’t lizards. We can’t regrow an arm that’s been cut off,” he said.

“No,” Tony agreed. “There are a few fae who might be able to manage such a thing, even for a human, but the cost would be... far more than you’d like to pay, I imagine. No, I’m going to make you a false arm.” He squinted at Bucky thoughtfully. “Silver, most likely, to suit your coloring.”

Bucky swallowed. He missed having two hands with a strange sort of hollow pain that he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t that he _needed_ it, not here, where the damn food would feed him, or where clothes merely wrapped themselves around his body. Where he had no work and no worth. No one expected anything from a one armed man, and the fae expected even less from a human.

He knew, sometimes, that he should just relax into it. Tony kept him comfortable, was fond of him -- sometimes Bucky thought in the manner that a man might be very fond of his dog. He could have a comfortable, easy life, just letting Tony take care of him.

And every time he thought that, the hollow inside his chest grew a little wider, a little deeper, felt a little colder.

“All right,” Bucky said. “Reckon I’ll understand better when I see it.”

“Yes, most likely,” Tony agreed. He took Bucky’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “We’ll walk through the warding protections, now,” he explained solemnly. “Close your eyes, and don’t open them until I tell you it’s safe.”

“You do know how to tempt a man, don’t you?” Bucky asked, but he did as he was told, since he was pretty sure the regret of _not knowing_ would never be as brutal as the truth of _what would happen_.

He didn’t know what he expected -- wails of the damned? Whispers of temptation? Flashing lights? -- but none of that emerged. They took maybe ten steps, and the floor under their feet remained steady and flat and stable. The wind shifted, a little, and then died away, and Tony said, “All right, you can look now.”

Tony’s workshop was almost terrifyingly mundane. Benches and tables, boxes of tools packed away, sawdust on the floor, chalkboards filled with diagrams and equations. A cot in one corner. “What, did your mom read you _Frankenstein_ or somethin’?”

Tony looked around, then looked back at Bucky. “There is no monster here. Doctor Frankenstein was a medical student, not a metalsmith.”

“Mad scientists,” Bucky said, nodding like he understood anything. “They’re all alike. You seen one lab where miracles of science occur, you’ve seen ‘em all.”

“I... don’t think that’s correct,” Tony said, then shook his head quickly. “Never mind, come over here, let me measure -- which finger do you want to wear the ring on?”

“One of these days,” Bucky said, “if it’s ever in my means to do it, I’m gonna take you to a movie.” He put his hand down on the table and wiggled his middle finger. “This’ll be good.”

“Okay.” Tony picked up what looked like an ordinary piece of string and wrapped it around Bucky’s finger. “Yes, okay...” He tapped on a wall, which dissolved under his touch to reveal what looked like a smithy right out of the old west, anvil and bellows and a firepit. Tony scooped up what looked like a dull gray rock, dropped it into a dish, and put the whole thing in the fire.

“Is there ever anything in these little holes in the wall that you didn’t put there? I mean, where is it when it’s not here?” Bucky wondered, poking at the anvil, which was just as real as it could be. Solid. Sturdy. Ignoring Bucky in a way he couldn’t quite understand. “Does anything-- like a person -- ever get stuck in one of these, and you open it up and someone’s starving Auntie has been locked in the closet for years?”

“Not if it’s built correctly,” Tony said, not taking his eyes off the dish in the fire. “There are stories, from time to time, but I don’t think anyone’s ever been unintentionally trapped in one of the rooms.” The word had a sort of gravity to it that made it sound like it had a capital letter: not  _rooms_ but  _Rooms_.

“If you tell me you have a cask of good Italian wine in one of these--” Bucky said, then laughed as once again, Tony had no idea what he was talking about. “I really need to take you to the movies, and then the _library_. You’re part human, you should know your own people.”

“What are movies?” Tony asked.

“Well, yeah, I guess your mom wouldn’t have seen one,” Bucky said. He took a seat near where Tony was working and watched, fascinated, as his deft and clever fingers picked through tools. “Uh, kinda like, when I share a memory with you, close enough that you can see it, almost touch but not quite? Voice and smells and feelings? Movies… are like what we do. It’s a story, put on film, and different humans pretend to be characters in the story, act them out, like a play. And it’s all saved, on a strip of film, for everyone to see and enjoy, as many times as they can pay for a ticket.”

“That sounds interesting,” Tony said. He used a pair of tongs to pull the dish out of the fire and another tool to take the rock out, now red-hot. He scooped up a hammer and began to pound the rock flat. “Libraries,” he said between beats, “those I know. _We_ have libraries.”

“Yeah, but I mean, human stories. _Mask of the Red Death_ , that seems like the sort of thing the Fae would be into. Of course, some people say Poe was part fae… whatever a Red Cap is.”

Tony glanced up at him and shuddered. “Creatures of the Winter Court,” he said darkly, and shook his head. “I’m not likely to be allowed back across the border again soon,” he said after a few minutes. “Maybe you can tell me the tales.”

“Yeah, Poe was a bit of a kooky sort,” Bucky said, trying to remember. “ _Mask of the Red Death_ is about all the nobles pretending that a sickness wasn’t spreading in the land, and dancing while people were dying in the streets. A costume party. And one of the infected snuck in, and unmasked at midnight, infecting all the lords and ladies, who later died of the plague.”

Like Steve had said, about the lesser fae, starving because no one would farm, Bucky wondered if Tony would see his father, and his father’s Court in the same story. But every man is the hero of his own tale. “Where does the iron come from?”

“The mines.” Tony picked up another tool and began curling the flat shape. “It forms in the same places as gold and silver do. Usually, it gets -- very carefully -- removed and taken to the winter border and used to improve our defenses there. But I trade for it, from time to time.”

“That must be a dear trade,” Bucky said, watching. He’d seen a blacksmith make nails and horseshoes once before, but never something as delicate as precious metalwork. Tony was an artist with his hands, cunning and crafty. He wondered if it was the same as the hobs, who were said sometimes to work on shoes, from some deep need to create, to repair.

Maybe it was just a tale. Bucky’d never seen a fae in the real world, or, leastways not one that he’d known it. Brownies and kelpies and well spirits and dryads. Fanciful tales from people who wished the world still had magic. But the way Tony spoke, the fae didn’t leave their realms. He was the prince and he _wasn’t allowed_.

“Not so dear as you’d think. Since I can handle iron, I usually go down and help package it for a time, and then take a percentage. It’s not like anyone _wants_ the iron.”

“So, not expensive. _Exploitive_.”

Tony glanced up at him again. “Ex-what?”

“Politics,” Bucky said. “Steve could tell you more, I think he’s even drawn some political cartoons for the paper on it. Guess the world turns the same, no matter what side of the passage you’re on. Your dad’s taking advantage of your good nature.” Bucky shook his head. The more he saw of the fae realm, the more he decided that it was a dark mirror of the human lands. Same problems, just with magic and half-breeds added in.

Tony looked at Bucky directly this time, though his hands never stopped moving, as if he didn’t need to see the metal to shape it. “And what would seem to be fair, to you?”

“You do a job that’s dangerous for other fae; you’re saving lives, preventing injuries. You should be compensated more than just… scraps. You should have respect, which I ain’t seen loads of. Someone might bother to be _grateful_.”

Tony smiled a little, as if it amused him. “Respect and gratitude are weighty currencies,” he reminded Bucky. “If they gifted me with those, then I would have less iron to work.”

“You are worthy of both,” Bucky said. Just in case Tony didn’t know it. He felt like he was talking to a brick wall, though, sometimes, that issued out witty or confusing quips. He’d never known anything other than contempt, and because he didn’t know anyone else like himself -- a half-breed, a part human -- he didn’t see how _wrong_ it was. 

“Perhaps, by human values,” Tony said, a touch sadly. “But, my friend, I live in the fae realm.” He held up a small iron circle and looked through it at the fire, then went back to working.

“Human values aren’t _less--_ ” Bucky started, practically grinding his teeth to keep from grabbing the man and trying to shake some sense into him. Except Tony wasn’t really a man, was he? And he might not be any more valued by humans. Certainly, there would be those who’d want to exploit him. “I apologize for my outburst,” Bucky said, formally. “That you are treated with less courtesy than I believe fair does not excuse my making you uncomfortable.”

He was learning the trick of a fae apology. Never say _sorry_ , unless you’re willing to take the consequences of blame. But an apology… that let the other person know their feelings were valid and just, without having to compromise on doing exactly as you pleased.

It was brutal, polite fiction, and Bucky wasn’t sure he’d ever get to understand it, but he was getting accustomed to it.

“Well said,” Tony said. “I accept your apology. And I... am lightened to know you hold me in such esteem.” He held out his hand, flat, on which rested an iron ring, a filigree so fine it was like it had been woven of hair, beautiful and strange shapes formed by the curling strands. “See if it fits.”  

Bucky offered Tony his hand, like a girl taking on an engagement ring, the correct finger slightly raised, and he offered Tony a crooked smile. “Well, go on, then,” he said.

The ring slid over his finger like water, somehow cold, even though it had been heated molten not moments ago. It nestled into place, a perfect fit. 

Bucky leaned forward even more. “And the second part of your payment,” he offered, because really, after Tony put a ring on his finger, Bucky thought he might well deserve another kiss.

Tony’s smile looked much less sad, then, and he cupped his hand around Bucky’s chin and pressed his lips to Bucky’s, gentle and slow and then warmer, his tongue slipping briefly into Bucky’s mouth to taste and tease.

Bucky melted into it, practically draping himself around Tony’s neck, breathing Tony in. He was, quite honestly, the sweetest thing Bucky’d ever tasted.

_You can’t help but want him._

But he was wearing the iron ring, and even if Tony’s human half let him hold it, everything he was beginning to understand about fae glamour, it should have broken. If Tony had glamoured him.

_And I still want you._

***

Bucky had _watched_ Tony the whole rest of the time they were in the workshop.

Of course, he’d been watching Tony from the moment they reached the workshop, really, and Tony couldn’t quite put his finger on how that had _changed_ , after Tony had claimed the kiss, but it absolutely had. Somehow. While Tony was cleaning and putting away his tools, damping the fire, closing off the Room again and sealing it against intruders.

While Tony measured Bucky for a new arm -- which involved more complicated measurements than for a simple ring, but Bucky patiently allowed Tony to position him and measure and test the responsiveness of the remaining muscle in his shoulder. And he was _looking_ at Tony all the while, like he knew some secret that Tony didn’t.

Tony scrawled his measurements on a board for later reference and put his tools away.

Bucky looked around a little as Tony puttered, but his gaze kept coming back to Tony, unnervingly warm and oddly comforting.

Tony looked around for Dummy, but the cat-sith who lived in the workshop was shy of strangers, and likely wouldn't show himself until Bucky had been to visit a few times.

When Tony placed his measuring stick away, Bucky made a soft  _oh_ of surprise, then went over to look in Tony's case. “May I?” he asked, waiting for Tony's nod and then plucked a tool out, a human device called a straight razor. His mother had shown one to him in her memories.

Fae did not shave their faces; they willed their appearance much like they did everything else. But Tony, half-human as he was… he had to shave. He'd made the steel razor out of theory, but living in the city, he used obsidian.

“Huh,” Bucky said, “this is good workmanship.”

Tony realized that he hadn’t provided Bucky with a razor. The human was beginning to look... scruffy. “If you like, we can bring it back with us,” he said. “As long as it remains in my quarters, of course.”

“Yeah, wouldn't mind a good shave,” Bucky said. He tucked the blade away in one of his pockets. “Consider it a gift. Your not having to look at my scraggly mug, that is. Been told I look like a hobo if I miss too many morning shaves.”

Tony laughed. “It’s only a _small_ gift,” he said. “You’re beautiful with or without your beard.” And there, Bucky was _looking_ at him again.

Tony took Bucky’s hand to lead him through the wards. They were simple but effective; a mirror spell that turned all who entered back again.

It was -- or should have been -- somewhat after the lunching hour, and still warm, as it was always warm in the Summer lands. Instead, there came a piercing wind just as Tony stepped past the wards, Bucky still behind him and in the mirror’s spell if he opened his eyes.

There was frost on the ground and it was dark, full _dark_. Tony stared up in shock and realized he could see _stars_.

They were beautiful, not quite like anything Tony had ever seen before. And utterly _wrong_. “What--”

Something moved in the darkness, swift and barely making a sound. There was a ripple of air where it had been, and then a razor sharp pain across Tony’s hand. When he raised it in surprise, blood welled and then dripped to the ground.

A high pitched cackle followed the cut. Tony couldn’t even tell where it was coming from. Everything was dark and cold and aching fear.

“Who’s there?” Tony demanded. “Show yourself!” He gripped Bucky’s hand tighter, pulling him out of the wards. “Open your eyes, Bucky, and be ready to run.”

“Poor Princeling,” a mocking voice called. “Can’t see in the darkness. Poor Princeling.”

Another dash and rush of air, and Tony caught a whiff of the rotting dead, like an open grave. A hand grabbed out at him in the darkness and then whipped away again. 

Tony slipped his hand into his pocket and closed it around his lump of iron. “Show yourself,” he demanded again.

“Tony?” Bucky seemed impossibly far away, even though they were still holding hands.

And then they weren’t, something snatching and grabbing and tugging him into the darkness. “Can’t catch us, Princeling, hehehe,” the voice mocked him, high and sweet, baby-talking him, like he was a child.

From above, too far above, Bucky screamed.

“Bucky!” Tony strained to see, but there were only shadows against the darkness, an undefinable mass where the stars were hidden. Nothing Tony could aim at, not if he didn’t want to hit Bucky. “Let him go, sluagh,” Tony said. “Your quarrel is with me.”

“Our quarrel--” a deeper, but no less mocking voice said. “--our quarrel-- he he he -- is with the _King_ , little Prince.” The creature was made of shadow and rot, vaguely human shaped, but slumped like a candle left to burn out. It glowed, faint and green, letting Tony see it against the blackness. 

He didn’t really want to look, to see the creature that had died and been left to decompose, animated with the need for revenge, the curse to walk the land in search of what had been taken from it. The sluagh were a bitter mockery of everything that humans could be, betrayed by the fae they trusted, their promises and favors taken until they died from it. 

“You know our price, to bring him down, little prince. See if he’ll do it,” the sluagh said. “If he’ll throw the poison blade. You know, guided by our hand, he won’t miss. You drop, or he drops. An interesting puzzle, noble princeling. Heh heh heh.”

Tony gritted his teeth. The sluagh’s bargain existed only to sow spite and discord, to fracture alliances and lay waste to friendships. “Throw the knife, then,” he spat. Half-human, he might be able to withstand a poison built to kill the fae. Long enough, at least, to get Bucky to safety and warn the King that the Winter Court had found a way through their borders. “Prince I may be, but the King won’t mourn me. You’re wasting your time.”

There was a flash in the darkness, well over Tony’s head, moonlight-- moonlight on steel.

Illuminated by his makeshift weapon, Bucky shouted defiance, angry and noble at once, and he slashed out, Tony’s steel razor in his hand.

“It burns!” The sluagh above shrieked, his arm falling away, hand opening and closing helplessly as it tumbled.

“Let go, or lose th’ other--” Bucky threatened.

“Very well,” the one on the ground said, and then Bucky was falling, falling--

“Bucky!” Tony darted forward, summoned all the magic at his disposal, desperate to catch Bucky, to slow the fall.

Bucky landed as neatly in Tony’s arms as if they’d planned it, clasping Tony around the neck with his arm as he settled. The man was shaking, trembling, eyes squeezed shut against the impact. His eyes snapped open as Tony enclosed him in a protective embrace, and then he scrambled as if to get closer, to hold Tony as tight as he could. “Oh, god, oh, Christ,” he moaned.

The light returned slowly, and the frost was melting in the grass, but the sluagh had taken advantage of Tony’s distraction to flee, leaving behind on the ground only a bloody razor and the poisoned bone knife.

Tony cradled Bucky close, felt the terror slowly seeping out of his bones, melting like the frost on the grass. There was a core of cold, though, that refused to fade. The Winter Court, _here_? Tony’s workshop was well away from the heart of the Summer lands, but still within the boundaries.

He set Bucky on the grass. “Wait here.” He tore off the sleeve of his shirt and carefully, gingerly, wrapped the bone knife in it. He left the razor where it lay, a warning to any others who might choose to trespass. When he’d secured the knife, he returned to Bucky. “Are you hurt?”

Bucky had curled up like a scared kitten, a little ball, his arm linked round his knees. At Tony’s words, he peeked up carefully. “I have almost died _four times_ in the last _two weeks_ ,” he said, voice strangely flat. “At this rate, I ain’t sure I’ll make it t’ New Year.”

Tony knelt next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “I will protect you,” he promised. “With all that I have.” He smiled a little, coaxing. “And it seems you are well able to protect yourself, at need.”

“What even the hell was that… that thing? Wantin’ me to kill you, tells me it’ll give me my heart’s desire, will put me safe on the ground-- ug, oh, God, and it stinks,” Bucky complained, still shivering, bone deep tremors that rattled up Tony’s arm.

“Sluagh,” Tony said. “The vengeful dead. A servant of the Winter Court.” He brushed Bucky’s hair back, only belatedly remembering the cut on his own hand. He peered at it, but it didn’t seem to be festering, so he tore off his other sleeve and bound it. “You should have thrown the knife,” he said. “It would have let you go safely; they’re as bound to their words as we are.”

“And what would it have done t’ you?” Bucky asked, swallowing. “Killed you? Hurt you? Yeah, no thank you. You think I could live with that?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said softly. He gently kissed Bucky’s forehead. “Thank you.”

Bucky looked up, met Tony’s eyes, steady and true. “You’re welcome.”

 


	8. And Some of Us Have Real Problems

Tony took Bucky with him to the palace, unwilling to let Bucky out of his sight for even a moment. He brushed past the guards and the courtiers without so much as a second glance, walking right up to where Howard lounged, eyes closed, listening to a trio of musicians. “Father, I--”

Howard held up a hand sharply, not even opening his eyes.

Tony bit down on his frustration. “The Winter Court came through the border,” Tony tried again, a little louder.

Howard’s mouth twisted into a moue of irritation and he waved at the musicians to halt. He gave Tony a flat look. “I don’t have time to deal with your flights of fancy, Anthony. The Winter Court--”

Tony unwrapped the bone knife and presented it across his palms. “Two of them,” he said. “Sluagh. They spoke of a vendetta against you, drew my blood and nearly killed Bucky.” From the greatest offense to the least, in Howard’s mind.

Howard’s eyes fixed on the knife, and then flicked to the blood-stained bandage wrapped around Tony’s hand. “Where?” he demanded. However much he despised Tony, he couldn’t ignore such an obvious threat.

“They ambushed us just outside my workshop.”

Howard’s interest suddenly fell away. “Oh. So they’ve only brushed the outskirts.”

Tony gaped. “Father! This is-- this is _serious!_ ”

“Only for those who skulk off to the Outskirts instead of staying here in the city, where the wards are strong. It’s probably just a raiding party. They won’t be able to come this far. Stay in the city for a few days, and it will pass.”

“Raiding parties probe your boundaries, to find where you’re weak, your majesty,” Bucky said. “Any student of military history can tell you the same. Repelling them back now, before they’re strong, or daring, would be astute.”

If Tony hadn’t seen the way Howard’s jaw twitched, he’d have thought his father hadn’t heard Bucky’s words at all. The King picked up the bone knife and turned it slowly, looking at the glint of poison on its edges. “That will be all, Anthony.”

Tony could practically _feel_ Bucky wanting to protest. He reached for Bucky’s hand and inclined his head to his father. “Father.” He backed away, pulling Bucky with him.

The dismissal of the King was made worse by the fact that there were a few members of the Court, including Sunset, who watched them, every step. Sunset, he was quite sure, was gloating, although what she’d have to gloat about, if the Winter Court came any closer, he didn’t know. Her lands and properties weren’t that far from the Outskirts, and some of her defenses were lacking.

Bucky waited until they were out of earshot before exploding into a torrent of swears and exasperated noises. “Is it because you’re part human that he disregards you, or because he’s just that blind?”

Tony rolled the words around in his mouth a little before pushing them out. “The fae... are not planners,” he said slowly. “We don’t, as a rule, take action against something if it doesn’t affect us.”

“There are your own people out there in those Outskirts of yours,” Bucky said. “Shouldn’t anyone check on them? Provide comfort and aid, if they’ve been robbed or assaulted? If I hadn’t--” Bucky bit his tongue, not saying it. “--if I hadn’t done what I’d done, we’d have a dead prince. Surely someone else has not been so lucky.”

Tony considered it. Bucky might have a point, but there was no way he’d get Howard to listen. “We’ll go,” he said. “Tomorrow or the next day. I have a friend who lives between the borders who will know more. We’ll look in on the Outskirts and stop in to visit Bruce.”

“All right,” Bucky agreed. “I was thinkin’ earlier, before-- before your dad put us out on our ear, I mean. That we were all heroic, get a parade or somethin’. You ever do that, the fae, have parades to honor a hero? If not, I’m polishing up a memory for you to share with me, if you want.” 

“Parades... like marches?” Tony shook his head. “We celebrate with parties and feasts.”

“I’ll show you. Everyone oughta see a Macy’s Parade,” Bucky said. He linked his arm through Tony’s. “I thought you were very brave, personally.”

“I was terrified,” Tony admitted. “I’d never seen such _darkness_.”

“The ground was a little further away than, really, I’d like to see again,” Bucky said. “I don’t know what you did-- that was really amazing.” Bucky looked around at the path they were on, strolling through a garden. “Do these-- belong to anyone? I mean, can I pick one, or will I owe someone a favor?”

Tony brushed his fingers over the flower petals, feeling the weight of them. They did belong to someone, of course -- everything did, so close to the palace -- but they weren’t so dear that their price couldn’t be easily paid. “A jar of honey,” he suggested, “should suffice for several blooms.”

Bucky nodded. “Will you be so kind as to make the arrangements?” He already knew Tony would, and he was busy at the flowers, plucking a single red one and a half dozen or so yellow ones, braiding their stems together.

What he presented to Tony was a bouquet that held itself together in a perfect circle. “If we were home, the mayor would give you a medal, an’ a key to the city. This’ll have to do.” He arranged the bouquet against Tony’s chest, off center, the stems tucking through a knot in the fabric. “There. _My hero_.”

Tony laughed. “Does that mean _you_ are _my_ hero, in turn? Shall I drape you in flowers and silks?” A rather sudden image bloomed behind Tony’s eyes of just such a thing, and he nearly tripped over his own feet.

“Pickin’ up Steve’s bad habits, I guess,” Bucky said. “What I did was damn near suicidal. Shoulda been, but what else could I do? Let him use me to commit murder? No thank you. I don’t know if it was heroic. You were all but spitting in his face, darin’ him to do it.”

“That was more rage than bravery,” Tony said ruefully, but he touched the flowers again, feeling the spark of their intent with warm fondness.

“You could have run,” Bucky pointed out. “The door to your workshop wasn’t that far. You didn’t. That’s bravery. Doesn’t necessarily feel like it, all th’ time.” 

“I _would_ have run,” Tony said decisively, “if they hadn’t snatched you away.” He shook his head; they could go in circles until morning, most likely. “Tell me of your _parade_.”

And Bucky started describing the parade, how cold it was, in the winter, but the press of people were so great that he was sweating anyway, and bands of music players leading the way, and great floating creatures that were dragged down the street by ropes so everyone could see them. “They’re not alive, you understand, but cloth stitched and glued together and made to float with gas that’s lighter than air,” Bucky explained, envisioning it well enough that when Tony touched Bucky’s arm, he could, for just a moment, _see_ it. A fat, abstract sort of cat, black and white, and almost humanoid, in a fashion. It was terrifying and marvelous all at once, and Bucky, with Steve, just children, standing in the cold to watch.

“And this is how you honor heroes?” Tony asked dubiously. Perhaps the strange cat was some knight’s sigil.

“They ride down the street, too, and everyone honors them, cheers and throws flowers and ticker tape. Their heroism is _recognized_ by everyone in the city,” Bucky said.

It really was quite charming, how offended Bucky was on Tony’s behalf. “When a fae does something praiseworthy, there are feasts, and sometimes a play to tell their story.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, just a little. “Oh, you’ll get your play, someday,” he said. “I swear it.”

The words fell heavy on Tony’s ears, weighty as pure coins, and Tony wondered what Bucky was purchasing with them. “Not only hero, but champion,” he said lightly, taking Bucky’s hand again.

***

Bucky consulted the sketch, then set another grape carefully in line. He peered up into the twilight sky -- it was always twilight, but there were very subtle changes, if he was observant and knew what he was looking for.

“All right, I think I got it, here,” Bucky said, looking at his little map. “This… this is the mortal world, that goes around our sun… and our moon, that goes around the earth, constantly faces the earth. So, no matter how many times we go around, we never see this side of the moon, it’s hidden. And this--” he indicated the other map “--is your land. And you’re locked onto your sun, so you’re always just seeing exactly the same amount of sunlight every day. So-- here… this is Winter’s land, always night. And-- so, what’s over here? Is there somewhere that’s always sunny?”

He wasn’t quite expecting Tony to answer; he was still working on the false arm for Bucky, concentrating on shaping the fingers. Bucky’s obsession with time hadn’t gone over well with any of the fae. Bucky didn’t think he was ever going to understand the general lack of curiosity that seemed a key component to most fae personalities.

“Seems logical,” Tony said, sounding half-distracted. “But no one’s ever found a way through that border. That’s how we wound up in the human world, actually, trying to break through the Light Border. There are lots of guesses about what’s over there. A barren land, burnt out by too much sun; mountains of treasure; the gods...” He shrugged and curled one of the fingers of the silver arm, grunted in annoyance, and started re-shaping a piece.

“I think it’s a side effect of you bein’ immortal,” Bucky commented, eating the grape. “None of you _care_ enough about a few hours. No clocks, no calendars. Obviously, no sundials. What I wouldn’t do for a damn watch.”

Bucky flipped back through his diagrams again; he’d picked through most of the books in the palace library trying to find anything, maps, sky charts, anything that let him tell one day from the next, one season from the next. Half the fae, Bucky was convinced, thought the Prince’s human was as mad as the proverbial hatter.

He gradually became aware of a humming sound, near the door to Tony’s workshop, like someone was shaking a sheet of tin to make a stage effect. “Is it supposed to be doing that?”

“Doing wh--” Tony finally looked up and frowned at the door. “No. Someone’s trying very hard to push through my wards.” He stuck his hand in his pocket. “Stay here.”

Bucky scrambled to his feet, knocking his charts on the floor. “The hell I’m stayin’ here,” he said, getting his hand on Tony as they passed through the ward. Bucky got his eyes closed just in time, catching only the merest glimpse of--

“Steve!”

The King’s Ambassador bounced off the door again, then huffed as Tony and Bucky appeared. “You need a doorbell,” he complained. “You have any idea how long I’ve been out here?”

“No, and neither do you,” Bucky said, smirking a little. Maybe he’d get Tony to help him build _two_ watches.

Tony narrowed his eyes at Steve. “Did my father send you?”

“Um, no,” Steve said. “He said to go away and stop bothering him. This was the furthest away I could think of.” He had a satchel over his shoulder -- and Bucky still couldn’t stop staring at the man’s shoulders, he was at least two and a half times as wide as he used to be, and taller than Bucky, which was just insulting. “I brought you a gift.”

Tony continued to look at Steve for a moment, then sighed, holding out his free hand. “You can come in. Take my hand and close your eyes.”

Steve did as he was told, which was no small miracle, and Bucky was going to mention that, as soon as there was an opportunity to do so. “I’d have thought the King would have said you can’t come out here, bein’ that _it’s so far from civilization_ an’ all.”

Steve reached into his bag, pulled out a bottle of wine and set it on a nearby table. “From the King’s cellars. I’m asking for the favor of being able to speak my mind. Let me know when I’ve used that up.”

Tony picked up the bottle and turned it over, examining the label. He looked reluctantly impressed. “What’s on your mind, Ambassador?”

“Howard is the _worst_ kind of idealist,” Steve ranted, and Bucky sat down, picking up his bowl of grapes. He might as well get comfortable, he recognized that kind of opener. They were in for some speechifying. “He’s brilliant, no question, but he’s greedy and petty and vain. He’s selfish, spoiled, doesn’t understand the first thing about responsibility, he’s a terrible King, and he’s _driving me crazy_.”

Tony held up a hand. “You’ve used up your gift.”

“Yeah, thought that might be the case,” Steve said. He put the satchel down and removed a plethora of items, two obsidian short swords, a bow of true aiming and a quiver of silver arrows, a handful of--

“Gross, Stevie, what’d you do, rob the Tooth Fairy?”

“As far as I can tell, she’s not real. But the King allowed me to go out with the Huntsman and we took down a couple of hags. I’m told their teeth are highly magical. Given that they only had four among them--”

Tony scooped up one of the teeth and looked at it through one eye. “Okay, keep talking,” he said.

“He’s got this idea,” Steve said, and his cheeks pinked, “that I’m supposed to fall in love with him. Get this-- I go off to my chambers to go to sleep, an’ the whole bed’s covered with torn up rose petals, like he went around decapitating flowers. _Thirty seven roses, Steven, there are the petals of thirty-seven roses on this bed. Is that not enough?_ I mean, who does that?”

Bucky glanced at Tony and had a sudden image of Tony, laying on a bed with a scattering of roses and could, somewhat distantly, see Howard’s point. 

“And he proceeds to tell me where he got each rose and how much it cost him to purchase it from the gardens where it rested. Like I’m supposed to be _impressed_ with the names of all the fae whose gardens he’s molesting.”

“Were there any from the Garden of--” Tony broke off at Steve’s look. “Okay, you’re not impressed by flowers,” he conceded. “He’s _fae_. You can’t expect him to court like a human. Or,” he added, “as if you were fae.”

“It’s not the flowers that I’m not impressed with,” Steve said. “You don’t _buy_ someone’s affections, and if you can, then that’s not affection you should want. You care about someone because of who they are. He’s not even remotely interested in who I am. He wants a pretty arm ornament, and that’s-- I mean, I could probably do that. Now. But I can’t lie to him.”

“You always were a terrible liar,” Bucky pointed out.

“No, I mean, literally. _Can’t_. If I open my mouth to say something untrue, what comes out is the truth, and usually in the least polite way possible.”

Tony started laughing. “Oh, I bet he _hates_ that.”

“Hasn’t been exactly pleasant for anyone,” Steve said. “Court is _murder_. I’m supposed to be some sort of damn echo chamber and tell him how wise and smart he is, for the benefit of all the nobles. I’ve been relegated to sitting on the floor at his feet and keeping my mouth shut.” 

Bucky couldn’t help it, he fell back in the chair, laughing, the grapes nearly spilling all over the floor. He scrambled to try to catch them before they ended up under the tables. Tony had a large pet cat -- something he called a cat-sith, that had once been a witch, but transformed into a cat too many times and was stuck in that form. Dummy, as Tony called him, liked to chase round rolling things, but also didn’t much like strangers, and might hiss and puff up if he pursued a grape only to find Steve in the room.

Bucky himself had only seen Dummy a handful of times and the cat-sith didn’t much care for Bucky, although Dummy adored Tony with an aggressive amount of affection.

“It’s a match made in Heaven,” Bucky cackled, enduring one of Steve’s famous glowers.

“And he talks in his sleep,” Steve complained. “He’s woken me up every single night. I don’t see why we have to share a room, I’m not--” His ears went pink. “-- _sleeping_ with him. I don’t know who Gregory is, but your father talks about him all the damn time. But he gave me that _look_ when I asked about it.”

Tony shook his head. “Can’t help you, there; I’ve never heard of anyone by that name. Maybe it was someone he knew before I came along. But he must be quite taken with you, really,” he told Steve. “He never went to this much trouble for our last Ambassador.”

Steve made a scoffing noise. “The previous Ambassador apparently mastered the ability to look up adoringly. If Howard wanted unconditional love, he should have gotten a puppy.”

Bucky batted his eyelashes at Tony, putting on his best adoring face, and it wasn’t even that much of a stretch, really, since he was pretty sure he already adored Tony. “I think I want Steve’s job,” he said. “I’ve only almost _died_ half a dozen times.”

Steve blinked. “ _What_?”

Bucky kicked back in the chair again, tossing a grape to Dummy anyway and letting the cat bat it around, practically knocking over one of the stools. “Some of us got real problems, pal.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Tony said. “It’s only... five?” He paused to count on his fingers. “Five,” he affirmed, nodding.

Bucky chucked a grape at Tony and laughed when Tony ducked out of the way, looking very offended. “Pedant.”

“Does anyone want to explain the nearly dying part to me, aside from the first bit, which I was there for,” Steve wondered.

Bucky rolled his eyes up, pretending to think about it. “No, not really. How about you, Tony?”

“I don’t particularly want to, no,” Tony said. “It’s unpleasant to think about.”

“Overruled,” Bucky said. “We’re not talking about the near-death experiences. Unless you’ve got some of that cheese from the two-headed cows. That stuff is amazing, and I might be willing to trade for it.” He peered hopefully at Steve’s bag. Fae, by rule, didn’t eat animal products, but the longer Bucky had been in the Summerlands, the more he’d discovered that there were exceptions to all the rules.

“You have a weakness for cheese, so noted,” Steve said. “You’re… you’re okay, though?”

“Obviously,” Bucky said. “And Tony’s making me a new arm. It’ll probably look terrifying, but hey, I’ll take it for being able to tie my own shoes. And I think I’ve figured out how to tell time around here. That’s an improvement.”

“Making you-- a what?”  

Tony waved at the table where he’d been working before Steve had blundered into the wards. “An arm,” he said. He looked excited. “It’s quite an interesting challenge, really!”

Steve dug around in his pack some more and pulled out a few waybread loaves and honey, wheat to make porridge from, and maple sugar. “All right, you can tell me all about it, while we eat, your highness?”

Bucky, who had a particular fondness for the waybread, put the legs of his chair on the floor. “Sound bargain for me. Tony?”

Tony eyed the honey and looked ready to pounce on it, the way Dummy pounced on grapes. “Sound bargain,” he agreed, grinning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In 1924, the annual Thanksgiving parade started in Newark, New Jersey by Louis Bamberger at the Bamberger's store was transferred to New York City by Macy's. In New York, the employees marched to Macy's flagship store on 34th Street dressed in vibrant costumes.
> 
> In 1927, Felix the Cat became the first giant balloon featured at the Macy's Day Parade. The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade New York was first broadcast on the radio in 1932.


	9. A Balance of Accounts

The border wasn’t _physically_ imposing, really, just a wide swath of forest, a little deeper into twilight than the city, dark enough that there were a small handful of visible stars in the sky. Tony glanced up at the bright North Star and remembered it surrounded, practically _lost_ amidst hundreds, _thousands_ of other stars. He shuddered.

It was _magically_ terrifying, though: wall after wall of defenses, followed by the horrifying _nothing_ of ground that had been carefully seeded with iron. Even immune to iron as Tony was, the way the sheer quantity of it sapped all the magic from the air was unsettling. It must be utterly overwhelming for a full-blood fae, to stand here and know that one single step off the proscribed path could spell death.

Tony stared across that magic-less void and took a tighter grip on the obsidian sword in his hand, the traveling bag hanging heavy against his shoulder. If anything attacked them, crossing, it would be down to their physical abilities to save them. Tony shivered again. “You’re still wearing your ring?” he asked, for probably the tenth time since they’d set out. 

“It’s still there,” Bucky said. “Don’t know what it can do to anyone who attacks us that my bumping them off the road won’t do ten times over.”

Bucky had actually stopped and touched the ground that was poison, running his hand over the stubborn, silvery moss that grew there were nothing else could grow. He’d taken a few handfuls of the moss for “study.” Tony hadn’t objected; who was going to claim it as their own and demand payment? 

“It’s not to defend you from a physical attack,” Tony said. “It’s to protect you from the wards that will try to tempt you off the path.” He glanced at Bucky, still touching the moss. “Are you sure you want to come with me? Bruce is... He can be frightening.”

Bucky didn’t bother to make another sarcastic quip, just stood up and took his place at Tony’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “There’s lights out there. Wisps? At home, they’re said to lead people to either death, or what they want most.”

“Mostly death,” Tony said wryly. “They feed on it. Don’t follow them.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t planning on it,” Bucky said. “How’d you meet this friend of yours? Even as careless as Howard seems with your life, the prince hobnobbin’ out with-- I don’t know, do you call them the Autumn Court? Renegades? Outcasts?”

“There aren’t enough fae living in the Borderlands for them to have a name,” Tony said. “Bruce saved my life, once, while I was helping to build the defenses out here. I’m still in his debt.”

“I’ll bet _that_ makes your dad happy,” Bucky said. He linked his hand with Tony’s, and Tony could feel the faintest prickle of iron dust left over on Bucky’s skin. 

Tony grinned. “I’m not sure he knows. Bruce has never laid claim to anything big enough to be worth the King’s notice.” Tony set his feet on the path carefully, even though they were both immune to the iron. That wasn’t the only defense, and neither of them were proof against obsidian darts, flung by a device Tony had designed. “He’s actually a good friend, when he’s not feeling difficult.”

It seemed longer, but the border was barely a quarter mile wide, even at its widest point, and soon Tony was leading them over the hills and into the murky area that made up the home of various trolls and ogres. And Bruce.

As soon as Tony could feel wisps of magic in the air again, he sent a whisper ahead, to warn Bruce that he was coming, and bringing a guest. He kept a sharp eye out as they walked; the trolls didn’t often venture too close to Bruce’s home, but occasionally an exceptionally stupid one would try to move in.

But soon enough, Bruce’s incongruously cozy-looking cottage appeared. “There,” Tony said, nodding toward the little house.

“That’s a really, _really_ big front door,” Bucky observed, carefully neutral.

“Sometimes, I’m really big,” Bruce said, appearing out of the woods, a basket under one arm. He was wearing the same amazingly ugly purple pants he’d had the last time Tony had seen him, ragged at the hems and torn in a few places. He stopped and sniffed at the air, then nodded. “Your highness, welcome to my home.”

“Bruce,” Tony returned affectionately. He strode forward to grip Bruce’s arm. “You’re looking well. Let me introduce-- Bruce, Bucky.”

“You bring a mortal out to the borderlands,” Bruce observed. “Have you decided to throw off your father’s titles and come join us? It’d be nice to have someone to talk to. Trolls are terrible company.”

“Not just yet,” Tony said. “But we’ll stay to talk a bit, if you like. Look, I brought you some things--” He hefted the traveling bag. “And you can tell me what gossip you’ve heard. For someone who lives alone and claims to only ever talk to trolls, you hear _all_ the most interesting news.”

“Well, I don’t talk only to trolls. They’re the neighbors; you know how it is.” Bruce led them inside. His cozy cottage had a few exceptionally sturdy pieces of furniture, and a shelf entirely full of tiny glass animals. “I added a new one, come look.” He pointed, showing Tony a careful, hand-blown unicorn on tiny, spindly legs. 

“These are _lovely_ ,” Bucky said, looking at the entire collection, hand carefully behind his back.

Tony beamed. “They are,” he agreed. “Bruce has an exceptional eye for beauty.”

“What gossip are you fishing for today,” Bruce asked, after his glass had been admired and they’d found seats. “I can tell you the Great Hunt is starting again in three weeks. Roses will be delivered in the next two days to those unfortunate souls.”

Tony blinked, startled. “They just rode a couple of weeks ago, I thought.”

“They did,” Bruce said. “I don’t know what to tell you. Barton’s in a mood. I think someone may have gotten away.”

Tony tucked that tidbit away; his father did like to know when the Great Hunt would ride. And it always paid to keep abreast of the Huntsman’s moods. “Speaking of the Hunt,” Tony said, fishing in his pack, “I brought you a couple of hag’s teeth.” He found them and tossed them to Bruce. “Our new Ambassador is not unskilled at the hunt, himself, it turns out.”

“Very nice. Valuable. I can make use of these,” Bruce said, blowing on them. A shimmer of green smoke issued from each one, and then he tucked them into a pocket. “You have a new Ambassador. Who is not… this mortal.”

Bucky was rubbing at his stump with his hand; a nervous gesture he’d picked up recently. Tony hoped to finish the silver arm soon, and that gesture would go away again. Probably. 

“Are you asking, or telling?” Tony teased. He caught Bucky’s hand and twined their fingers together, offering up a reassuring smile. “You know how narcissistic I am, Brucie; tell me what you’ve heard about _me_.” He wondered if Bruce had known of the attack on him -- either before or after the attempt.

“A little bird told me you’d made yourself an Iron Sword, but that can’t be true,” Bruce said, raising an eyebrow. “Even you wouldn’t be that bold. But there were some stories about vengeful dead, and one that found eternal peace. He’s both reviled and envied.”

“Mm,” Tony hummed thoughtfully. “That one was Bucky’s doing. Any idea who sent them, or how they got through? I can’t believe the Queen would be so bold.”

“I’ve heard… rumors. Soft ones. Not from a source, or even someone close to the source. That someone new has come on the scene. A new rebel, and he’s getting close to the queen. That he’s skilled with alchemy, and he’s got a theory-- I don’t know. I’m an alchemist and I wouldn’t try it.” Bruce stopped and looked directly at Tony. “He’s said to be owed a debt from the Summer Court.”

“A debt?” Tony cocked his head, thinking. He was familiar with most of the bigger debts his father owed as the King of the Summerlands, but he couldn’t imagine any of them turning to the Winter Court to trade on it. “What kind of debt?”

Bruce looked unusually grim. “The kind that Summer has denied.” That… that could be bad. A debt owed was one thing, a debt denied -- well, that had caused wars in the past, and probably would again in the future. The weight of a debt unpaid could be heavy, but defaulting? The repayment often ended up being doubled, trebled, before the injured party declared themselves satisfied.

“Damn. No idea who this rebel alchemist is? Well, keep an ear out, let me know if you find out anything useful. I will, of course, be even further in your debt.”

“I’m afraid all I have for you is a collection of more questions,” Bruce said. “The Queen is growing restless, but why? Barton is angry, but why? Mortals in the Eternal Lands, maybe. The Queen sends emissaries to me, from time to time, wanting the Hulk’s strength and the King wants no truck with my other talents. I’m not inclined to agree to her terms, but I can… appear to consider it, if you think there are more answers in the other court?”

Tony thought about it. “Not yet. That’s a lot of danger for you, and you’re out here in the Borderlands for a _reason_ ; I don’t want you to throw it away just to satisfy my curiosity. If the Queen had her way, you’d be the Hulk all the time, and I know you don’t want that.”

“Someday, I might not have a choice,” Bruce said. “Barton’s come for me a few times. Hulk’s always gone with him. One day, Bruce might not come back. In which case, you will be free of all debt from me, of course. Hulk won’t be interested to collect.”

That was a joke, and one Bruce had been using for a long time. If he succumbed to the darker, more violent part of his dual nature, well… the Hulk had a sense of obligation, but the niceties of favors owed was a little beyond him.

“We brought other gifts, by the way. One day, I’m sure, I’ll balance our accounts. Eventually.”

“Your debt is a matter of prestige here in the Outlands. I shan’t give it up easily,” Bruce said. “When you are crowned King, I expect to be allowed to pay a visit to the Palace.”

Tony laughed. “Sure. Assuming I’m not assassinated before I ever take the Summer Throne.” He had no illusions about how the fae felt about his position as the crown prince.

“No one’s going to assassinate you,” Bucky said, and that sounded more like a promise than a dismissal.

***

Bucky had been positioned with the arm that Tony was working on any number of times, to make sure it fit, wasn’t too heavy, matched the length of his other arm, and to check the seal between his skin and the silver.

All of which meant he’d stopped really noticing the thing as a potential permanent attachment, and really sort of assigned it the same mental category as all the half-finished scarves, sweaters, and blankets that his sister started knitting and then lost interest in.

So when Tony announced that it was ready for the final fitting, Bucky got up and stood near Tony’s bench, still reading his book.

Tony muttered under his breath as he fitted the silver arm over Bucky’s stump, clever fingers smoothing everything into place, and that, too, had become familiar enough to be relegated to background noise.

Dimly, he registered Tony saying, “--slight tingle, probably, but let me know if it hurts.” And sure enough, a moment later, a soft, prickling tide of sensation swept down from his shoulder, like the earliest stages of pins-and-needles.

“I swear,” Bucky said, shifting his shoulder a little to try to relieve the itch, still buried in _History of Thrones_ , a book on dynastic fae and their accomplishments, “your decisions for who rules when there’s no heir makes no sense whatsoever.”

“It makes perfect sense,” Tony returned, still fiddling with Bucky’s shoulder. “It’s human lines of succession that are completely insane.”

“Familial lineage makes perfect sense,” Bucky said. “And give you a way to bind two countries together with a visible symbol. If you all had any sense, your Father would be banking a lot of treaties on your human blood.”

He shifted again, wiggling his fingers and feeling the pads of his fingertips brush against his palm. It felt a little weird, like he had something oily on his hand and he did it again, before--

“Holy _shit_!”

He’d actually moved his _hand_. His left hand.

His left shiny silver hand.

Tony had pulled back, eyes wide and hands held up and out, as if to prove he wasn’t touching Bucky. “What’s wrong? Does it hurt? I can adjust some stuff--”

“It _moves_ ,” Bucky said, holding it out, marveling. He turned it slowly, one way, and then the other, watching the plates shift and click, listening to the mysterious noise that it made, like crystal, if crystals could _sing_. “I’m… I’m _moving_ it.”

It responded to him, as if it was his own arm; no pause between deciding to move and motion.

“Yes?” Tony said slowly. “Arms move.”

Bucky turned his wrist again, flexing each finger individually, and then all of them, and then clenched a fist. It didn’t hurt, or pull at his shoulder, or do anything--

“Why’s it make that noise?” he asked, still clenching his fist, listening to the whine. There was-- “Oh, lord, that gets warm.” He let his fist go and shook his hand to try to cool it off.

Tony sighed. “Yes. The metal holds the heat of the magic, and I couldn’t figure out a decent way to-- You’ll have to vent it, once in a while. Twist your hand like this--” He held out his own arm and demonstrated.

Bucky twisted, and-- “Oh, that feels… weird. Like wind. Sort of. That’s… that’s _amazing_ , Tony.” He touched the metal palm with his other finger. “I-- didn’t really think, I mean, I wasn’t doubting you, I was just-- this is _incredible_.” 

Tony grinned, pleased. “It was an interesting challenge,” he said. “I’ve never done any work quite like that before.”

“Well, I should hope not,” Bucky said. “Most people got more sense than t’ bring a bitty old pocket knife to a sword fight.”

“We should run some tests,” Tony said. “Make sure it’s all working correctly.”

“Yeah, we should--” Bucky said, still moving, watching himself move. He couldn’t stop looking, the way tiny little images of him were reflected, the way the little ribbed plates moved and shifted to accommodate what would have been muscle, under a rigid surface. “It won’t… fall off or nothin’?”

Tony shook his head. “If all magic is cut off, it will stop working, but it should remain attached.”

_So much for that party trick_ , Bucky thought, but didn’t say, because Tony was never really sure when Bucky was kidding and when he was serious. “Is that-- a thing that happens? I mean, I suppose it could happen all the time in the human world, and we don’t notice it because magic isn’t a thing we do.”

“Not often, no,” Tony said. “Not here. You’d have to be completely surrounded by iron to interrupt the flow. Like at the border. In the mortal world...” He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“So, like don’t climb into a refrigerator. Got it. Good advice in any case.”

Tony reached for the arm and began... touching it. Soft little brushes against each of the plates, testing their movement, asking Bucky what he could feel, if there was any pain or discomfort. Little murmured spells danced like sparks along the shining silver, tickling, almost.

It was difficult not to stare, while Tony was so close, the way his lips moved when he talked, the feel of his breath-- Bucky had to stop for a moment to gape in astonishment again; he could feel Tony’s breath against the silver skin! And then, Tony would glance up, those brown eyes wide and earnest and surrounded by thick lashes.

Shivers ran through him, in little waves, as he tried to remember to actually answer Tony’s questions rather than get lost in sensation and feeling.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tony asked a moment later. “Are you cold?”

“It-- uh, that-- kinda tickles, a little,” Bucky said, feeling his cheeks go warm. “Twitchy, you know, ‘cause you’re touchin’ it so light.”

“Oh,” Tony said. He looked down at where Bucky’s wrist was gripped in his hand. “I can stop, if it’s unpleasant. I’ve done the most important tests.”

“It’s not,” Bucky said, not quite letting himself get lost in that expression. “Unpleasant, I mean. It’s not. You’re… not botherin’ me, and even if you were-- well, you don’t got any idea what human medicine is like. When I was a kid, I broke my arm-- this arm, as a matter of fact, and they… well, let’s just say gettin’ a bone reset does more than just tickle.”

“Oh. Okay. It’s... I’m glad you don’t mind. It’s... I like it. Seeing it, touching it. On you.” His mouth twisted. “I don’t know what the right words are for it.”

Bucky reached up with that silver hand, and carefully, very carefully, as if Tony was made of the most fragile glass, like a soap bubble that might break at any second, brushed his knuckles over Tony’s cheekbone. “Pride, maybe, a bit. An’ satisfaction, seein’ something so well done, completely appreciated by the person you made it for. No matter what happens, there won’t ever be a day in my life I don’t think about you.”

Tony shivered, a little, but leaned into the touch. “I like that, too,” he admitted. “Knowing that you’ll think of me.”

Bucky gave a brief laugh, but let his hand cup Tony’s cheek. “Well, if I’m understandin’ the rate of exchange around here, I won’t exactly be payin’ off my debt to you in my lifetime.”

Tony’s eyes sparked a little at that, and he smiled. “You never know,” he said lightly. “These balances have a way of shifting more quickly than you might expect.”

Bucky took a breath, only slightly deeper than the one before. “Well, then you’ll be in my debt, perhaps,” he said, wondering what that would look like… wondering how that would _feel_. “And still, I don’t know, now. If you’d asked me a month ago, maybe. But now? I can’t see any future. Without you in it.”

Tony’s eyes were almost comically round. “Oh.” He put his hand over Bucky’s, warm and soft against the hard metal. “I. I’d like you to be in my life, too.”

 


	10. The Affections of an Immortal

“There is nothing _logical_ about the King having a birthday party,” Bucky said, pulling on the new coat he’d commissioned from one of the brownie families. Made from deep ocean currents and adorned with buttons made of unrequited love, it gave Tony’s human the look of something both unattainable and yet desperately in need of affection. Tony hadn’t yet figured out if Bucky knew the looks he was giving off, or how much Tony wanted to be that person for him.

Romance in the Summerlands, much like everything else, was a game of points. Bucky would let him know, Tony decided, when Tony had paid enough to be granted truth, or affection. Sometimes he got both unexpectedly and it left him gasping.

“It ain’t like he was _born_ ,” Bucky continued. The coat was missing one sleeve, to show off the artistry that was the false arm that Tony had made, a declaration of gratitude and pride.

“Well, not in the way that humans are born,” Tony conceded, straightening his own jacket, woven from the flush of first love, a subtle complement to Bucky’s buttons, and embroidered with the deep gold of the sun just as it slips below the horizon. “But there was a day on which he began to exist.” He patted his pockets, making sure that his packages were in place and his customary iron nugget left behind.

“Of course, I always thought that maybe we went about it the wrong way, anyway,” Bucky continued, checking his reflection in the shiny silver mirror. He looked perfect, as usual, but Tony was beginning to understand that his opinion on that matter might be biased. “Should be your mom that gets all the credit on your birthday. It’s her what’s doing all the work. You just-- start breathing.”

“I don’t know much about the event,” Tony said. “What little my mother told me, it sounds like something dreadful, hardly the thing you’d want to commemorate. Perhaps, instead, we should celebrate the date of conception.” He flashed a grin at Bucky as he reached for his rings.

“That might make sense. For most people, that’s a happy occasion, too.” He took a deep breath, raked his fingers through his hair. “At least I’m better prepared for this party than th’ last one. Won’t humiliate you this time.”

“You didn’t humiliate me last time,” Tony said. “That was Sunset. But she will not find it nearly so easy to use you, now.” They had actually _practiced_ , Tony drawing on a glamour that made him look like Sunset and attempting to trap Bucky with all her favorite tricks. Tony had been quite proud of Bucky’s careful reactions. “And, fates willing, we will upset her advantage considerably.” He patted his pocket.

Bucky checked the silver device that he’d drawn up for Tony to make. It was a simple thing, springs and cogs, and utterly fascinating. He looked at it. “Time to go. May I give you a gift, before we leave? If the outing is successful, you can give it back, after the party?”

Tony considered it, but oddly enough, he trusted that Bucky would not take advantage of a debt owed, not at the party. Not so publicly, not for the purpose of lowering Tony’s status. “I will accept your gift,” he said. “When shall I return it, if we are not successful?”

“I leave it to your discretion,” Bucky said. “You’ll know when it’s the right time.” He stepped closer, and then even closer until he was entirely inside Tony’s personal space, hand on Tony’s shoulder, and those silver fingers came up to brush Tony’s chin. “Here, then, is my gift. For luck.”

And he kissed Tony, soft and slow, without rushing. His tongue flicked out and brushed over Tony’s lips, surprising a gasp out of Tony. Bucky took his advantage, licking into Tony’s mouth. Sensual and sweet and without any particular urgency, although there was an undercurrent of heat to it.

Tony found his hands cupping Bucky’s neck, and when Bucky pulled away, Tony swayed forward, involuntary, wanting _more_. He caught himself and blinked up into Bucky’s stormy eyes. “A princely gift, indeed,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. Did this mean that balancing his accounts with Sunset would earn him Bucky’s affections?

“I’m glad you approve, Prince Anthony,” Bucky said, and it was a _tease_ ; that was a thing that fae did not do, not the way humans did, and Tony was finding it quite enjoyable, if a bit confusing sometimes. “Let us go, then, and praise your father for the act of suddenly existing, where once, he did not.”

“Quite.” Tony took Bucky’s hand to lead the way -- Bucky was getting quite good at navigating the city, but the Palace had its own peculiarities to negotiate. “May it be a more enjoyable celebration than the last.”

The birthday celebration wasn’t the full Court. Showing off his new Ambassador to everyone had been one kind of power. Limiting invitations to the King’s birthday party was another sort; the fae had been known to duel, bargain away favors, or out and out cheat to procure one of the precious invitations.

Once, when Tony was still young and prone to fits of rebellion toward the king, he’d actually sold his invitation to the affair. Both to spite his father and because the palace events were horribly tedious, most of the time. Howard had been neither amused, nor forgiving.

Tony’d never done it again.

He found himself actually looking forward to this one, though. Partly, of course, for the culmination of his plan for Sunset’s downfall. But even beyond that, he was pleased to know that the other fae would see him with Bucky, Bucky looking especially beautiful and wearing the arm Tony had made, and they would know that Bucky was _his_ charge, his to care for and protect. And -- he hoped -- Bucky would enjoy the party, if only because Steve would be there, and everyone would know that Bucky thrived in Tony’s care. _Pride_ , that was the word. However tedious the event might be, Tony was _proud_ to have Bucky at his side, beautiful and attentive and devoted.

He glanced at Bucky once more as they approached the entrance, drinking in the sight of the man, and then squared his shoulders and lifted his chin as he swept past the guards.

The music was beautiful, strange and bright and-- “Those are _humans_ ,” Bucky said, looking over at the band, playing instruments that Tony had never seen before. Well, Howard had probably brought them over as a gift to his Ambassador. One evening’s playing, as if in a dream, and they’d wake up with whatever desires they’d expressed before agreeing to a fae’s bargain. “It’s… amazing.” The birthday party did not have a receiving line, so Tony allowed Bucky to drag him closer to the musicians, to listen.

The musicians couldn’t quite see them, of course, so Tony let himself study the instruments, trying to work out their functions. It seemed entirely mechanical, without any magic or glamour at all. Well, of course, because they were human, but it still seemed odd. And curious. Tony wondered if he could manage to get his hands on one or two of the instruments, to study.

“Now, this is the sort of music I can dance to,” Bucky told Tony. “Like from home. Oh, she is here.” His gaze shifted and he looked over. 

It had been dimly possible, Tony supposed, that Howard could have decided not to invite Sunset. Although that would have been too great a courtesy to Tony, if he had made the slight. Gained Tony back points, and many fae parents would do such a thing for their child, to weigh the cost of favors owed against the whole family. Yet another slight, for Howard to neglect to bring any of his own disapproval against Sunset for her behavior.

“Good,” Tony murmured. He glanced around the room idly, but Howard hadn’t arrived yet, and Tony had no intention of approaching Sunset until the King could bear witness to her humiliation. “Show me your dancing,” he suggested to Bucky instead. “Perhaps we’ll start a trend.”

Bucky looked Tony up and down, like he was assessing. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Tony said, and it was both true and easy, as if they had been allied for their whole lives.

It didn’t take Bucky long to teach Tony the basic steps of what he called swing dancing, a simple exchange of places with partners, accompanied by rolling hips and quick turns of the feet. “When you come in this time, like so, I’ll put my hands on your waist and lift. Just let me, I won’t let you fall,” Bucky told him, and they went another few cross-exchanges, before the music swelled and Bucky _lifted,_ swinging Tony up like he weighed almost nothing, and then neatly placing him back down on the floor.

Tony laughed in delight. “Your dancing is fun,” he told Bucky. “I like it.” He didn’t quite let himself acknowledge the small crowd of fae who had gathered to watch.

Bucky led him through another, and then, twisted off to offer a hand to one of the younger fae, a girl who was watching avidly. “Care to join us, Miss?”

She squealed with delight and let Bucky bring her into the small circle, letting her move from his arm to Tony’s and back, each time showing off a new variation in the steps until more and more of the younger crowd, and some of the fashionable, had joined them, each adding their own movements.

“Now this looks like a party, Buck,” Steve said, and giving Tony a quick nod, “may I cut in?” He whisked Bucky away, Bucky complaining the whole time about how Steve used to be smaller.

“Quite the upstart you’ve brought to my birthday,” Howard said, appearing like a mist of bad dream on the edge of Tony’s peripheral vision. “How fares your human, then?”

“Very well, I believe,” Tony said, keeping his eyes on the dancing humans. He _almost_ returned the question, but he needed to be on the right side of Howard’s graces tonight, so he said, “The Ambassador looks very well. The Summerlands must agree with him.”

“The Ambassador is... settling in,” Howard said, at last. “He has strange notions, and little to no desire to be in _anyone’s_ good graces. Despite that, it seems, the people like him. He has a natural charisma. A good man, I believe, if not quite as noble as the fae. He was an excellent choice.”

“Your choices nearly always are,” Tony said. He let a server offer a tray of crystal goblets first to Howard, and then took one himself. He watched Howard from the corner of his eye as he sipped; the King was watching the humans dance, faintly amused. Probably as good a mood as it was likely to get, so Tony tossed back the rest of the drink, barely tasting it, and said, “If you will excuse me, Father, I crave the boon of a few words with Sunset.”

Howard waved him away, negligent. Watching the Ambassador, and the way he and Bucky were talking. Steve’s hand on Bucky’s wrist, more affection between the two of them than Steve had shown to Howard, the entire time he’d been there.

Sunset was all but beaming in triumph as Tony approached her. “Prince Anthony,” she purred. “Are you enjoying yourself?” She dangled a sugar-crystalled cherry from two fingers, popped it in her mouth suggestively, and bit down, the juice staining her lips even redder for a moment.

“Much more than I expected to,” Tony said. He was the prince; he did not bow to other fae. But he granted Sunset the gift of a deep nod. “It would be even more enjoyable if you would do me the honor of accepting a small gift. Close as we’ve been, it pains me to be so at odds with you.” He took the package from his pocket and offered it on an open palm. “I put some effort into this; I hope you’ll like it.”

Her eyebrow went up. “Not finding your new pet to be quite to your liking? I… could be persuaded, if your offering is sweet enough, to allow us friends again.” She was, as always, full of avarice. The gift was not inappropriate, either. She lifted the lid to stare at a brilliant, bloodstone necklace, silver and platinum. It was lovely, and adorned with Tony’s own sigil. No one seeing it could possibly think it had come from anyone except him, and obviously traded dearly, as platinum was rare in the Summerlands.

She licked her lip. “It’s beautiful.”

Tony smiled. “Thank you. I gave it a lot of thought.” He reached out and touched the largest bloodstone, which would rest just below the hollow of Sunset’s throat. “I took the blood for the stones from Bucky, so when you wear it, everyone will know what you’ve earned.”

“Well, that is a gift, indeed,” Sunset said. She hesitated, then, “I accept this gift. Please, put it on me.” She turned her back to him, lifting her lustrous hair that he might slide the chain around her throat.

“I’m so pleased,” Tony murmured as he carefully slipped the chain around her neck. He glanced toward Bucky, and then at Howard, before closing the clasp. “There. Turn around, now, so I can see how it suits you.”

Before Tony had learned to recognize her joy for the cruelty it was, Sunset’s smile had bewitched him -- and countless others -- in its brightness. She was shining like the star she’d been named for, so lovely, so certain in her triumph. 

For a long moment, she was utter perfection, and then she gasped.

A drop of brilliant scarlet dropped onto her hand. Another fell, marring the bodice of her gown. And then a trickle slid down her perfect bosom as the bloodstones melted back into the blood from which they’d been formed.

Sunset looked down at the melting stones and then looked up at Tony, her eyes sharp and angry. “Anthony--”

And then the largest of the bloodstones finished melting, revealing the hair-thin iron wires Tony had embedded in it. Not enough to kill or even cause real harm -- but enough that the metal broke through her glamour and seared her, her skin and Bucky’s blood sizzling with the stomach-turning stench of cooking flesh, branding her with Tony’s own sigil.

“What-- what have you done?” she shrieked, clawing at the wisps of her glamour as they faded around her. She snatched the necklace, breaking the chain and throwing it on the floor. 

“Hmmm,” Bucky hummed, coming up behind Tony and putting a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Next time you want something, Sunset, make sure you can hold it.”

“I told you,” Tony said with a bland smile, “it’s exactly what you’ve earned. Or did you think I would merely be amused by your appalling behavior?”

There was a familiar step behind Tony, and he knew better than to jump, or whirl. Howard, coming to see what the fuss was about.

“Your majesty,” Sunset wailed, the pain from the iron that touched her still coloring her voice. “Look what he’s done--”

Howard looked Sunset over, as if she were a broken plate that someone wasn’t sweeping up fast enough. “I notice no great difference,” he said. “Anthony, if you please, I should like your company a moment.”

“Of course, Father.” Tony lightly squeezed Bucky’s hand, meeting his eyes only for an instant, and then followed Howard. There would be no praise -- Howard did not award excellence, as it was the barest minimum expected -- but perhaps, for once, there would be no recrimination.

“Tell me about your human charge,” Howard invited, not quite looking at Tony, but instead gazing off into the bit of wilderness that served the purpose of the evening’s view, outside the Palace. “The Ambassador does little but speak of him.”

That... was not anything like what Tony had expected his father to speak of. “He’s... very clever,” Tony said cautiously. “He’s already able to navigate the Market with only occasional hints. And he reads _constantly_. I may have to seek out new books for him, soon, or he’ll run through my library entirely.”

“He smiles a great deal,” Howard observed. He looked down at his hands, adorned with rings that represented the treaties and alliances of the various houses of the fae. Howard’s power base, spelled out on his fingers. “The Ambassador has more proven himself a great frowner. I don’t approve.”

By the Spheres, was Howard actually, in his roundabout way, asking Tony for advice on the care and keeping of his human? Tony stared baldly for a brief moment, and then turned to look back at the humans so Howard wouldn’t be able to read Tony’s astonishment.

“Bucky... seems to appreciate the freedom I give him. And honest answers to his questions.” Because _honesty_ was a far different thing than _truthfulness_. “We share stories; he seems to enjoy that. And he has little liking for glamour, though,” Tony conceded, “that may be just him. He doesn’t care much for idleness.” Tony watched Bucky and Steve talking animatedly together, and hedged, “Perhaps it’s simply that Bucky is of a more cheerful disposition.”

“Your mother,” Howard said, and he seldom called her that, usually referring to her by name, or sometimes, _my Ambassador_ , which served to differentiate Maria from _the Ambassador,_ by which he usually meant Coulson, or now, Steve, “enjoyed gifts. Little things, sometimes, even especially little things. Does your Bucky enjoy gifts? What things do you find to give to him?”

 _Iron and steel, mostly,_ Tony didn’t say. “Small things,” Tony said. “He doesn’t care to feel much indebted. A ring, a book, a comb...” Tony shrugged. “He’s said that the Ambassador once enjoyed drawing and painting. Perhaps he’d like something of that sort.”

“Perhaps,” Howard said. He took a deep breath, perhaps enjoying the scent of rich food, or the perfume from flowers, and then said, “Your thought has value, I thank you for the gift.” It was minimal gratitude, not even quite _warmth_ , but tangible, nonetheless. A weight, like Howard had put a stone in Tony’s pocket, or hung something around his neck.

“I am pleased to have been of some slight service,” Tony responded automatically, almost too overcome with shock to speak at all. He risked looking at the King; Howard, too, was watching the humans, frowning slightly as if in thought.

“We shall have an outing,” Howard announced. “A picnic luncheon, ride out on stags, perhaps. Visit your mother’s memorial. Make yourself available to me in four days time.” And then Howard swanned off, seeing someone else who desperately needed his attention, which was good, because Tony was about ready to collapse. He had a need to take something and drop it, to make sure that gravity still worked. Everything _else_ seemed turned upside down.

A server passed, and Tony groped blindly for a goblet and threw back the contents without even tasting them. He left the crystal on another tray and made his way through the room to Bucky’s side, sliding an arm around Bucky’s waist. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself, this time?”

“Well, no one’s tried to indebt me under false pretenses,” Bucky said. “Although I have had some interesting offers, if I was inclined to be a casanova.”

“A casa--” Tony blinked. “I don’t know that word.”

“Somewhat of a novelty, I am, here,” Bucky said. “Steve’s off limits, of course, given that he’s your dad’s ambassador. But there’s a whole passel of fae who want to see if a bite of a mortal’s apple is any different. Lucky me, I was always good at lettin’ a dame down easy.”

It took Tony a few moments’ thought to work through that. “You... have no interest in sharing pleasures with the fae?”

“That’s what they all say, like it’s all yes, or it’s all no. Don’t you, I dunno, date? I ain’t, you know, frigid, but ‘you’re very lovely, will you come to my bed’ seems a bit sudden out of the gate. And some of these-- people. They don’t really sound like they’re _askin’_. Which makes me more than a little concerned for the state of my bits, after.”

That wasn’t an entirely invalid concern, Tony had to admit. “Of course it’s not _all_ yes or _all_ no,” he said. “One has standards. Discernment. But how else would they ask? How do humans do it?”

Bucky’s throat went deep red and he couldn’t quite meet Tony’s gaze. “Oh, you know, introductions are pleasing. Her name, my name, an endearment or two. The right mood. Some affection isn’t mandatory, but it’s _nice_. I might… have given more than a few the impression that it wouldn’t please you, if I spent the night in someone else’s bed.”

That ought to be absurd. The fae traded such pleasures freely and easily, and there were no oaths or contracts binding Bucky to Tony’s side. Yet, when Tony considered it -- imagined Bucky placing his hand into another fae’s, even one who bore neither of them ill will -- Tony felt... heavy. Sick and sad. “I... cannot say that it would please me,” he admitted. He considered Bucky’s face, the bright flush crawling up Bucky’s cheeks. “There is affection between us,” he said cautiously.

“Think I’ve said so, yes,” Bucky agreed. “I wasn’t-- I ain’t tryin’ to make you jealous, or put you in… debt. I-- I mean, I do like you. And if that’s not your thing, or whatever, I’m not trying to be pushy. I’m just saying, that if it’s _anyone_ \-- it… I’d prefer it was you.”

Tony had begun to suspect that was the case, but hearing Bucky admit to it was heady and heating. He swayed a little closer, smiling. “This human way of asking seems very inefficient,” he said. “And with not much of grace or beauty to offer. Isn’t it simpler for me simply to say -- Would you like to come to my bed, Bucky?”

Bucky looked over at him, heat and wanting and something a little more desperate than either of those two things in his gaze. “Simple, yeah,” Bucky said. “Would it mean anything to you, or are you just lookin’ to score a point?”

“It would mean... a great deal,” Tony said. “It would make me very happy, to bring you pleasure.” He faced Bucky directly, cupped Bucky’s cheek in his hand. “Will you say yes?”

“It’s very likely I will,” Bucky said. “But how, an’ when… well, that depends. You answer me a couple of questions, honest as you can be. Even if the answer’s yes. Will it lose you status, to take me as a lover?”

Tony shook his head, mystified. “How could it? A human lover is an oft-sought prize. Even the King values his Ambassador’s affections.”

“Do you-- seek me, because I’m a prize?” Bucky was all but shaking, and Tony didn’t understand why he looked so desolate.

“No,” Tony said. He frowned, studying Bucky’s face. “Am I a prize? The former Ambassador, my mother, the tales -- they all say humans are as drawn to us as we are to them.”

“No, you’re not,” Bucky said. “You’re my friend. Which -- I don’t always understand the fae, the way you form alliances, instead of friendships, like you’re each itty bitty nations unto yourselves. It seems lonely. Guarding your status and your affections, afraid to show any weakness. I like you, very much. Of course, I’m drawn to you, of course I want you. I’ll say yes, if you want me, you have to know that I will. I just need to know how hard I have to guard my heart.”

“You should always guard your heart,” Tony said. “Human hearts are fragile, if resilient.” He dropped his hand, placing it very carefully over Bucky’s chest, feeling the heavy, fast pounding of Bucky’s heart underneath. “They used to say the fae cannot love. Do they still?” He shook his head. “It isn’t true. But when a fae gives his heart... it can’t be given back. If it’s shattered, it cannot mend. If a fae’s heart breaks, he must continue on without it, for the rest of his days. So the fae are... extremely guarded, in such matters. A human’s love, we say, is a mayfly, bright and beautiful and brief.” Tony met Bucky’s eyes, willed Bucky to understand. “I am half human. A broken heart would... not kill me, probably, but it would be a very grave wound. It might take a human’s lifetime to mend.”

“I… I understand,” Bucky said. “I won’t toy with you, or ask for anything you’re not willing to give me. Understandin’s a good start. I’d be honored to go to your bed, if you wish to ask me.”

Tony shook his head. “You should ask,” he said, “for what you wish. Just... be certain that you know what it is that you wish for.” He smiled. “I like you, too, you know. Maybe you can teach me more, what it means to be friends. But for now, for tonight -- will you come to my bed?”

“Gladly,” Bucky said, and he offered Tony his hand.

 


	11. Wanting and Asking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct continuation from the previous chapter, so smut-averse readers... sorry, come back next chapter!

For something that Bucky had been certain was going to happen _weeks_ ago, he was surprisingly nervous about it finally coming to pass.

Maybe, he thought, if Tony had taken him right away, or soon after he’d been -- relocated -- to the Summerlands it wouldn’t have been so momentous. He’d expected it. Everyone knew the stories and legends, but Tony kept… just being Tony, and not some slick and sensual seducer. 

And then, Bucky had started to want it -- _you can’t help but want him_ \-- because Tony was beautiful, and he was kind, and he was fascinating.

Of course, to someone like Tony, it probably hadn’t seemed like _months_ ; what was time to someone who would never die, who would be young for as long as it gave them pleasure to be young? Bright and beautiful and brief.

He squeezed Tony’s hand as they walked, feeling the softness of his skin, the way it was pliant and accommodating under Bucky’s metal fingers. There was time, even for him, as a mortal, to be melancholy about what all of this meant… after.

Tony squeezed back, smiling at Bucky, obviously pleased, maybe even a little excited. “I’ve never bedded a human before,” he admitted. “You may need to help me. I want to make you feel good.”

“Well, I’ve never-- well, honestly, I don’t know,” Bucky said. “But I assume it mostly works th’ same. After all, we can, you know. Make babies. Well, not you an’ me, but fae and humans. Theoretically. There’s supposed to be some fae blood in my line, old family legend.”

“I had wondered about that,” Tony said. “You’re so beautiful, and you’ve learned our ways so quickly.” He reached out and touched the wall of a building and the street beyond flickered and stretched into the familiar way that led to Tony’s home. “We’ll figure it out together,” Tony promised.

Bucky shook his head; he didn’t feel like he’d learned the fae’s culture particularly well, but what he did have going for him was a hell of a lot of survival instinct. 

“It’s not much more complicated than dancing,” Bucky said. “A good sense of balance, clear direction, an’ some mutual attraction.” He did find Tony very attractive, after all, and his own turbulent feelings aside, he wasn’t going to say no to a little tenderness. It would be nice to lay down with someone, to feel sated and comfortable, to feel necessary and desired.

Even if it was only a pretty, passing moment.

He knew the way from here. This particular path had stopped toying with him quite a few weeks earlier, and he knew where to step and how to think. So much of the fae’s reality was what, exactly, they made of it. His fear, he’d learned, was what led him astray more often than not.

But he wasn’t afraid of Tony. Not anymore. Even if some small part of him whispered that, perhaps, it was Tony he was to be most afraid of. All anyone else in this realm could do to him was to his body. Tony could break his heart, and despite Tony’s offhand comment about the resilience of a human heart, Bucky was pretty sure it’d be painful as hell.

As always, the door didn’t so much _open_ as _withdraw_ as they came near it, and then they were inside. Tony paused and turned to Bucky, curled both hands around his face, drawing him in for a soft, almost cautious kiss.

There was nothing cautious about Bucky’s answering kiss. He’d already thrown caution to the wind, and the thought that he might actually get to put his hands on Tony, that Tony might put hands on him, was enough to drive him to distraction. And that wanting that had built into craving over the last several weeks was like a tinderbox that Tony set aflame.

Bucky was panting for breath by the time he broke away to look, to see if anything had changed, to see what Tony was thinking. Tony was, compared to most of the fae, at least mostly expressive. Especially when it was only Bucky around. In public, Tony was nearly as beautiful and chilly as carved ice.

Nearly. There was usually a spark of _something_ , whenever he looked in Bucky’s direction.

It wasn’t a spark now, but a flame, brilliant and joyful. “You,” Tony whispered. “You are so _beautiful_.” He traced the lines of Bucky’s face with his fingertips, eyes wide and wondering, as if the shape of Bucky’s cheeks and nose were a miracle. “I want... I want to lay you down on my bed and kiss every inch of you, touch you, make you feel good.”

“Well, there’s an offer I’m pleased to accept,” Bucky said. “Hope that includes a little touchin’ myself. You’re pretty enough, it’d be hard to keep my hands to myself.” Hands. Plural. Which he only had because of Tony. When Tony’s mouth came down on his again, Bucky tried to project that, the gratitude that had come from such a gift, and the pleasure he’d taken in having it, and the pleasure he hoped to be able to give, with it. 

It was strange, sometimes, Bucky thought, how he didn’t even necessarily seem to speak the same language as Tony -- it was both English, but the words were shaped differently -- and yet, when they were together, this close, kissing or touching, it seemed like Bucky didn’t have to speak at all, to make himself understood. Tony could feel… what Bucky was feeling.

_You should always guard your heart._

_Might be too late for that,_ Bucky thought, not a little ruefully.

Tony drew Bucky through the house, into his own room, and there was Tony’s bed, a wide expanse of leaves and moss and ferns, and instead of the butterfly curtains that surrounded Bucky’s bed, Tony’s looked like they were made of raindrops and mist, suspended indefinitely. Tony’s hands were moving down Bucky’s body, clothes falling away like dreams.

“That’s gonna make takin’ a human lover again kinda inconvenient,” Bucky said. “Magical button removal. You ever try an’ get a dame out of her fancy get up without tearin’ cloth or poppin’ a lace?”

Tony cocked his head, quizzical. “No? Would you rather I did that?”

“No, I like this,” Bucky said, “this is great. How--” He touched Tony’s jacket and wondered if it would be so kind as to put itself away. “Oh. Like that… I like that. Your clothing is very accommodating.”

“It knows when it’s not wanted,” Tony said, laughing. “Clothes are for showing off, out there.” He waved vaguely, in the general direction of _out there_. “Here, this is a place and a time for a more honest display.” He smoothed his palms down Bucky’s chest, then back up and over Bucky’s shoulders.

Was there truth in it, Bucky wondered, thinking of Sunset’s insistence on his nakedness. It was true that he could hide less, and that she was privy to it, as much as Tony. Didn’t matter. It was Tony he was naked with now, and Tony who he was looking at.

Glorious, perfection, the kind of body that would make an angel weep. The statue of David was nothing, there was only Tony and his fae beauty. Bucky was more conscious than ever of his scars and mars, the way he was taller and bulkier than Tony. Graceless and overly mortal. 

Didn’t matter. 

Tony had said he was beautiful and at least for this moment, Bucky was going to believe him.

Fae can’t tell lies.

He let Tony push him back onto the bed and laid himself down in the pillowy moss, smelling the nutmeg of Tony’s skin as Tony pressed down on him, and his mouth met Tony’s lips again, for another kiss. Longer. Slower. Deeper, until Bucky couldn’t tell where he ended and Tony started, until their breath was shared and their hearts beat in the same rhythm.

“Oh,” Tony breathed, drawing back only for an instant before coming back for more, this time with a series of small, almost teasing kisses, tracing the corners of Bucky’s mouth, the shape of his jaw, the line of his throat. “You’re so... _real_.” Tony licked Bucky’s skin, right at the hollow of his throat.

Bucky couldn’t help the breathless laugh that rumbled out of his throat. “Well, yeah, did ya expect me to melt or somethin’?”

Tony giggled a little and shook his head. “You just... Humans feel more... solid than the fae. It’s different. I like it.” That teasing line of kisses curved up over Bucky’s shoulder and down his arm, Tony’s beard scratching lightly at the soft skin.

The fae were, according to all myth and story, stronger than humans. Faster. And it might have only been a bit of human conceit, but Bucky rolled them over and pinned Tony to the bed, one hand catching at the slender, graceful wrist. “You want solid,” he asked. It might have been demanding, except for how desperately Bucky wanted it to be true, which made it softer. “You got _solid_.” He settled between Tony’s thighs, pushed them wider, to accommodate him.

Looking into Tony’s dark eyes, wider and rounder than normal, the way his eyelashes seemed to sparkle, Bucky wasn’t sure who was the prey and who was the predator here. And if it was him, he’d bare his throat to be bitten, just to have it, once. He rolled his hips against Tony, feeling every inch of him.

But Tony didn’t protest the shift, didn’t make any move to free his captured hand. His eyelids fluttered, long lashes brushing his cheeks, each time Bucky rocked against him, mouth falling open in a sigh. “Solid and warm and beautiful and brave,” Tony said, brushing the fingers of his free hand through Bucky’s hair. “Tell me, my charge, what you would have of me.”

_All of it_ , Bucky thought, fiercely and suddenly possessive. _I want it all, your love, your passion, your beauty. I want to know I have the power to break your heart, and I want you to know that I won’t ever._ But that was too much and his throat closed on saying it. “I want to touch you,” He said, instead. He rolled off to curl up at Tony’s side, and not even realizing he was doing it until it was done, brushed that metal hand down Tony’s body until he cupped the length of Tony’s cock. Looked normal enough, Bucky thought, even with his silvery hand against it. 

Well, Tony had put the arm on him, it was only fair that Tony reap some of the benefits of it.

The metal was smooth, almost slippery, and he found only a little finesse was needed to glide Tony’s length through a loosely closed fist. “Do you-- like that?”

Tony arched into the touch, hips coming up off the bed. “Yes, _oh_ , yes, again, please!” He threw his head back, the long, vulnerable line of his throat pale and strained. “Please!”

There was a swell of pride in that, that _Bucky_ , of all people, a dirt-poor schlub from Brooklyn, had done that, had this beautiful fae begging for pleasure, well, that was something. Bucky let a smile touch his lips. “You hold that thought, beautiful,” he said, rough and eager, “an’ I’ll take care of you.” He kept those easy, rhythmic strokes while he kissed Tony’s mouth, his cheek, nuzzled at his ear. He licked at Tony’s throat and then moved down, mouthing the planes of Tony’s chest, and even lower.

He didn’t ask; Tony’s cock was too tempting, _of course_ Tony wanted him to taste it. Not to do so would be sinful, negligent. Cruel.

Bucky took a deep breath, then drew Tony in, as deep as he could take it, tongue working over the heated skin.

Tony gasped out a soft little cry, his whole body quivering with sensation. “Bucky, oh, oh, _oh_ \--” He pushed his fingers through Bucky’s hair, ran his palms across Bucky’s shoulders and arms, restless and needy. “I want, I want, Bucky, _please_ \--”

Bucky pulled off with a lewd slurp. “I got you, honey, I’ll get you there. Hey, I--” He could feel his neck heat, and put a hand on Tony, tracing the lines to keep him squirmy and interested. “Look, I dunno how it works with a fae and your magic clothes and glamoured beds, but humans need slick, so I don’t hurt you.”

Tony stared at him in slightly dazed confusion for a moment, and then the expression cleared. “Oh! Yes. Yes, I have...” He rolled away, reaching over the side of the bed, and came back with a small ceramic pot, elegantly shaped and decorated with painted flowers that nearly seemed to sway in a breeze. “Here.”

The slick, whatever it was, smelled light and clean and flowery, and was slippery on his fingertips. Bucky decided not to ask what it was made from; he probably didn’t want to know. He pushed back, spreading Tony’s knees a little. “I-- uh, usually, this is a quick bend-over, so you let me know if I do somethin’ you don’t care for.” He’d always known he was queer -- when people joked about his fairy blood, they didn’t always mean some fae ancestor.

But it was still illegal, and he’d never taken a boy back to his place for some love. It had always been hasty handjobs in the alley, or a blowjob under the table, or a quick bend over a chair rail.

“Of course,” Tony said. “What use in sharing pleasure if there is no pleasure?” He shifted a little, adjusting the angle of his hips, curling one leg over Bucky’s shoulder, apparently entirely at ease and eager for more.

“I like this,” Bucky said, running his slicked fingers over Tony’s cock and down to his hole. At least fae anatomy was relatively similar. He almost asked, and then decided he didn’t want to know that, either. Not right now, at least. “It’s not cold, or gooey or anythin’. Can’t even imagine what it’ll feel like, slidin’ into you.”

Tony grinned up at him. “You won’t have to imagine it, soon.” He groaned a little and pushed into Bucky’s touch, urging. “Humans do it this way, too?”

“Sometimes,” Bucky said. “When we can get away with it. It’s… erm. Illegal.” He ran his finger around Tony’s rim, then breached him, easy and slow.

“Illegal?” Tony frowned and opened his mouth as if to argue, but then moaned and let his head fall back again as Bucky pressed deeper. “Humans are so _odd_.” It came out breathy. “Why would pleasure be illegal?”

“You got me, doll,” Bucky told him. “Lookin’ at you, all spread out, pretty as a picnic, feels like it ought to be illegal _not_ to make love with you.” He did as Tony’s moans and movements urged, pressing deeper, crooking his finger just a little, seeking that spot inside Tony that would make him cry out with bliss.

Tony squirmed and twisted and finally gasped and arched his back. “Oh! Oh, that-- Right there, that’s... Bucky!” Those gorgeous eyes closed and he sank into the sensation, panting, open-mouthed, rocking his body with every movement.

Bucky almost lost himself in the sway and feel of Tony’s body, forgetting the goal entirely, watching the fae moan and writhe, his hips meeting every one of Bucky’s strokes, until Tony’s cries were soft and urgent. Bucky’s own neglected cock thrummed once, in sympathy or need, and Bucky pulled himself back. “Are you ready for me, love?”

“Yes,” Tony gasped. “More than ready, please, I want you so much.” His eyes fluttered open and he stared at Bucky with desperate heat, a wild sort of yearning. “Please.”

Sinking into Tony’s body was like slipping into a tub of hot water at the end of a long, long day. Like release from pain he hadn’t even known he was in. A sip of perfect coffee on a winter’s morning. Hot and cold and sweet and perfect all at once. He almost came right then, on the spot, as soon as he was seated, and Bucky had to swear and grind his teeth and clench up just to keep from spilling like a green boy.

“Hang on, baby,” he told Tony, his jaw held steady even as his arms were shaking. “Gonna treat you right, I just… need… a minute.”

Tony brushed his knuckles down Bucky’s cheek. “It’s okay, sweetheart, take your time... Are you all right?”

“You feel s’damn good,” Bucky managed to say. “It’s hard not t’ just give in.” He wanted to, and he didn’t want to. He wanted to rock in Tony’s tight clutch, he wanted, oh, dear god, he didn’t think he’d ever wanted so much, so desperately, as he did right then.

“Oh,” Tony said, knowing and gentle. “I can...” He cupped Bucky’s chin, lifting until Bucky looked into his eyes. There was a soft whiff of something sharp and sweet, the prickle of glamour, and the urgency... faded. Not entirely, but enough that Bucky was no longer teetering on the ragged edge.

“That’s a cheat,” Bucky said, but he was playful, and eager, and not so desperate. He pulled back and rocked in, feeling Tony move to accommodate him, the welcoming heat and the teasing squeeze.

“How is it a cheat?” Tony asked, mouth curved into a smirk. “You wanted to last longer; I wanted you to last longer. It’s helping both of us get what we want.”

Bucky wanted to kiss that smirk right off Tony’s face, and there was nothing that was keeping him from doing so. He leaned in, brushing his lips gently over Tony’s mouth, each butterfly flutter bringing them closer together. He tasted Tony’s lips, then explored the velvet inside of his mouth, each stroke of his tongue matching the thrust of his hips. Tony’s ankles went around Bucky’s back, to pull him closer.

Tony surrendered his mouth to Bucky’s exploration, but his hips rolled insistently, pushing Bucky to move faster, sink deeper. His hands gripped Bucky’s shoulder and back, holding so tightly Bucky thought there might be bruises, later.

Bucky shifted, pushing Tony’s leg back, changing the angle, and to leave him room to work Tony’s cock with one hand, helping ride him up to the very edge. He was soaking with sweat, muscles hot and aching in the best way as his body pushed him, harder. Pressure built in the base of his spine, need and desire and want and… “Oh, god, Tony--”

“Yes,” Tony said, his voice tight with urgency. “Yes, now, Bucky, sweetheart, _yes_ \--” His voice broke on the word and his whole body went tight, squeezing down on Bucky hard enough to nearly halt all movement. He spilled over Bucky’s hand and his own stomach with a gasp and a quiver.

Even if he hadn’t already been running flat out toward release, seeing the fae, wrecked and shivering, under Bucky, would have been enough. Bucky inhaled, and then let himself go. Completely overwhelmed, sublime, the strength of his orgasm was enough to make him sob against Tony’s throat, tuck himself in that safe place, until he came back to himself.

Tony was stroking his hair and his neck, humming tunelessly. “Oh, you’re back,” he said. “Does that always happen with humans?”

“What, this?” Bucky wondered. “Did I-- do something wrong?”

“Not as far as I’m concerned,” Tony said. “You just seemed to... go away, for a little bit. I was worried I’d hurt you somehow.”

“Oh, that,” Bucky said. “Uh, yeah, that happens. Ain’t a bad thing, not at all. It’s good, doll. It’s real good. When-- you know. Humans are emotional creatures, an’ sometimes when somethin’ feels so good, we gotta kinda… take a minute to be overwhelmed.” 

“Oh. Okay. If it’s good, I won’t worry, next time.” Tony nuzzled up under Bucky’s jaw, kissing his throat. “I enjoyed that very much.”

“Imagine my relief,” Bucky said, still playing, teasing. “Wasn’t sure if I’d be up to snuff, bringin’ pleasure to a fae. It was a concern.”

“No more than I,” Tony pointed out. “Will you... Would you prefer to stay here, or return to your accustomed room?” He didn’t quite meet Bucky’s eyes as he asked, fingers faltering a little in their light stroking.

“Ain’t I supposed to ask for th’ things I want?” Bucky wondered. “Does that not count for you, as well? Would you wish me to stay, all things bein’ equal?”

“I... am not unaware of the power I hold over you,” Tony said uneasily. “I don’t want my desires to weigh on your own.” His eyes flicked up to Bucky’s, wide and somehow more naked than they’d been in the moment of his release. “But if you’re asking... then yes, I would like that.”

Bucky slid back with a faint grimace, then-- “Oh, that’s handy,” he said, as their spend practically dissolved. “I could get used to that. No wonder you fae don’t know how babies are made.” He settled in at Tony’s side, draping his arm across Tony’s belly. “You fae, you act like someone holdin’ power over me is somethin’ new. It ain’t. We ain’t all free and equal in the mortal realm, no matter what we might say. This is just… a little more personal. And-- I trust you. If I said I didn’t want to stay, I don’t doubt you’d let me go.”

“Well, yes,” Tony said, and he sounded warmer, easier. He wriggled a little closer, tucking his own feet between Bucky’s ankles. “Does this mean you will stay?”

“Right here, for as long as you want me,” Bucky told him, tucking his nose against Tony’s throat. “Or, leastways, ‘til I get hungry.”

 


	12. Accidentally in Love

Tony was no stranger to the sensation of waking up with someone else in his bed. The extra warmth of another body pressed against his, legs tangled, an arm thrown over his hip or his side. His own arm half-numb from him lying on it for so long. A soft puff of breath against the nape of his neck, gently stirring the hair.

He woke slowly, letting himself drift into consciousness. He lay there, unmoving, for some time, drinking in the sensation, saving up the memory. It was sweet enough to be worth saving. But after a while, he twisted around, carefully turning over to face Bucky.

Bucky's face while sleeping was a thing of beauty, all soft and delicate, the features muzzy with lingering dreams. His eyelids fluttered and then opened and his slow smile as he recognized Tony, memory of the evening's events returned, was full of fondness. Approval. _Affection_. 

“Hey, you,” he said.

“Hello,” Tony murmured, smiling helplessly as warmth and delight surged through him, relief that Bucky had no regrets, and joy at seeing Bucky so happy, and--

Oh. Oh, dear.

And he’d been _so careful_ to make sure Bucky understood how serious, how potentially damaging it was for a fae to give away their heart. He moved his hand, resting it against the center of Bucky’s chest, feeling the steady beat of Bucky’s heart.

“I’d say you look particularly lovely this mornin’,” he said, “but that might just be conceit. You do look _pleased_.” Bucky dropped a kiss on Tony's wrist, apparently oblivious to Tony's sudden realization. Well, maybe it was not so serious. The previous Ambassador had once called a lover “a passing fancy” and had scarcely seemed the worse off for it. “You hungry? I'm _starved_.”

Tony wasn’t particularly hungry, but he couldn’t help but respond to Bucky’s suggestion. “I’ll summon something for us,” he promised. He brushed Bucky’s hair back, enjoying the soft feel of it against his fingers, and reluctantly sat up and pulled away. “Do you have plans today?”

“Not so anyone else would feel slighted,” Bucky said, carefully, pushing himself up on one elbow so he could watch Tony. “More readin’. Steve suggested we might teach the King how to fish. I expect that's gonna be a disaster. Also, waste of good fish. Probably catch and release. But not today. Today, I'm all yours.”

Something in Tony thrilled at the thought, even as he reminded himself that it was merely a human figure of speech. He shook off the contemplation and opened the wardrobe. “I thought, if you think you’d enjoy it, that we’d have a picnic? Invite a few friends, maybe?” That way, Tony wouldn’t have to think about what he’d done with his heart, and whether it was recoverable, and whether he _wanted_ to recover it. At least, for a while.

“Shame, that,” Bucky said, not quite scowling at Tony's clothing as it wrapped him up, but giving Tony a look of tamped down heat. “Yeah. Picnic. That'll be good. Friends? Whose friends? I mean not that I really… you know. Have any. Hard to be friends with people who think you're a’ interestin’ sort of shiny animal.”

“You’re not an animal,” Tony said, offended, though he had to concede that the fae often seemed to think of humans that way. Perhaps Tony had not thought that through, entirely. “My friends?” he tried. “Pepper and Rhodey would never. And you could invite Steve, but I don’t know if the King will let him out.”

Bucky snorted. “I’d like to see King Howard stop him, if Stevie decided he wanted to go. But as I'm not of a mind to argue with your dad today, let's skip it. Might lead to unexpected confessions and then that'll get awkward really fast.”

“Confessions? What-- You know what, I might not want to know that,” Tony corrected. “So you, me, Pepper, Rhodey... Sounds good, actually. Small and intimate. Cozy. Refreshingly lacking in politics.” Tony turned the wardrobe to Bucky’s selections, and constructed a wispy messenger to send around to Rhodey and Pepper and the cooks. “I know a good spot; I think you’ll like it.”

“If you like it, I'm sure I will,” Bucky said and then he got up finally to yawn and stretch, not making any effort to hide his nudity, as if knowing and relishing the fact that Tony couldn't seem to not look at him. 

He washed up in the ewer, rinsed his mouth and finger-combed his hair, the whole time shooting little glances in Tony's direction. 

Which Tony knew because he couldn’t seem to stop looking. Objectively, Bucky was no more beautiful today than he had been yesterday. But somehow, he was even more luminous, his eyes brighter, his muscles firmer, each curve and plane of his body more graceful.

...He was in so much trouble. Tony finally tore his eyes away from Bucky and gathered his glamour around himself. “I need to go out for a short while,” he said. “Alone. You’ll be all right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky said and somehow the easy joy went out of him, like draining a glass. “I'm all grown up and everything.”

Actual pain lanced Tony’s chest at Bucky’s distress. He stepped close, carefully cupped Bucky’s face, and dropped a gentle, lingering kiss on Bucky’s mouth, trying to tease out a little smile, or at least lessen that unhappy weight. “I’ll be as fast as I can,” he promised. “And then I’ll return.”

“Oh, yeah, all right,” Bucky said and he leaned into the kiss. “Wasn't sure if it was me, still hanging about.” 

And Bucky finally turned to summon his clothing, almost Fae graceful as he let the cloth drape around him like the living magic that they were. “Go on then. Sooner begun is done.”

Tony couldn’t resist another kiss before he turned to go. Or looking back over his shoulder before he stepped through the door. Bucky was still watching him, and that fact left Tony feeling warmed and happy.

_So_ much trouble.

He jumped through the streets as quickly as they could turn, and barreled through Rhodey’s door with less grace than a pollen-drunk bumblebee. “Rhodey!”

“I ain't late, that's your deal not mine,” Rhodey said. The door from his common room was open into the grounds, where Rhodey kept a small stable of war mounts. “Come and see. Roxxy had herself a baby.”

Tony followed the sound of Rhodey’s voice and found him gently petting the steel-gray flank of one of his favorite mounts. At Roxxy’s side was, indeed, a foal, spindly-legged but with eyes that already blazed with fire. “It’s beautiful,” he told Roxxy sincerely. “Very well done.”

“I always just love those little fluffy wings. Useless, but cute.” Rhodey sat back on his heels. “Pretty sure we're not celebrating a new foal. What's got your tail feathers on fire today?”

Tony couldn’t quite meet Rhodey’s eyes. “I may have, maybe, just barely possibly, fallen in love.”

“You did not,” Rhodey said, more hopeful that convinced. “With who-- oh. Stars and dust, Tony. You did _not_.”

Tony pressed his hand to his chest and felt the way his heartbeat had slowed, grown fainter, with Bucky’s absence. “I... think I did.”

“Blood of the first Waters, are you out of your mind? He's a _mortal.”_

“Well, I’m _half_ mortal,” Tony protested. “It’s not like I did it on purpose!”

“You are the only idiot I know who's capable of giving away your heart  _by accident_ ,” Rhodey exclaimed. “Does he know?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said. “I only realized this morning, and I sort of... panicked.”

“Yeah, I can see panic going on here,” Rhodey said. “You know, this is why we don’t mix with the mortals much at all, right? They’re hard to resist, so full of life. Passion. They feel things, not the way we do. There’s an intensity about them. It’s seductive. I wondered that your father let you bring one back with you at all. It’s a strange choice, with him having no other heir but you, to let you do something so monumentally foolish.”

Tony remembered the way Bucky had clung to Steve, fierce and desperate and _alive_ , the bright spray of blood and the shock that paled Bucky’s stormcloud eyes, and wondered if he hadn’t begun to give his heart away even then. “Yes, all right, sourpatch, I’m a fool -- but it’s _done_ , now. What do I do?”

Rhodey shook his head. “Would you, could you even? I’ve heard of only two outcomes for this, although there may be others; more of the Summer Court join the Winter every year. We wonder why that is; it never happened before we found our way to the mortal world.”

Rhodey leaned forward, lacing his fingers together to stare intently at Tony. “Send him away. Send him home, pretend you never met him. Consult Sunset, if you must, to forget him. If it’s only just happened, you might be able to undo it, but you’ll have to act quickly.”

Tony stared at Rhodey, aghast. “I can’t do that! Why would you even _suggest_ \-- Are you _testing_ me?”

Rhodey shook his head. “He’s _mortal_ , Tony. You’re… gonna do what? Die for him? Spend the rest of eternity having lost him? There’s… so few ways this ends well.” Rhodey made a face. “There’s a rumor, you know, about the king and what happened to his heart.” 

The thought of losing Bucky was like a blow to the chest, so painful Tony could only gasp for breath -- but the thought of simply walking away and _forgetting_ was utterly unthinkable. “My father has his heart,” he said, mechanically, barely able to think under the crushing weight of that thought.

“Your father has… most of his heart. They say he tore it, for Maria. Gave some of it away, kept the rest. That’s what they say,” Rhodey said. “I don’t know. He doesn’t exactly confide in anyone.”

It was a rumor Tony had heard before, but there was no way to find out how true it was. If Maria had held part of Howard’s heart, then she’d taken it to her grave rather than bequeath it to her son, and it wasn’t the kind of thing one could just... _ask_. Maybe Steve could find out, if he were canny, but-- Tony shook it off. “Anyway, I’m half-human. It’s not... Not as bad for me, as it would be for you, for another of the fae.”

“Well, perhaps not,” Rhodey said. “Not that it kept you from doing anything half-hearted, ever in your whole life. Then you’d better get ‘round to the other option.”

“Which is?”

“You need to secure him,” Rhodey said. “You need him to love you back, and you need to make sure nothing _ever_ happens to him. Keep him as safe and guarded as you would your heart, because that’s what he is.”

That... that seemed much more doable. He knew Bucky had a great affection for him; it could well become love. Might even already be; humans seemed to give their hearts easily. Keeping it, guarding it -- that was harder, but not nearly so hard as the thought of losing Bucky entirely. Tony nodded. “Yeah, okay. All right. I can... I’ll talk to him.” He hugged Rhodey. “Thank you.”

“Well, don’t you go just blurting it at him like you’re some sort of mortal adolescent,” Rhodey scoffed. “This gives him so much power over you, Tony. I’m scared for you, man.”

“Better him than Sunset,” Tony pointed out. “Anyway, it evens things between us, some. I had all the power, before.”

Rhodey shook his head with a sigh. “You are wrapped around his little finger.”

***

The spot Tony had chosen for the picnic was breathtaking. It was a small glen in the forest, carpeted with flowers that shone with light when they were touched or moved. With every soft breeze, the light in the little glen brightened, almost like daylight except that the light came from beneath their feet instead of overhead. The trees bowed overhead and the twilight beyond the flowers’ light seemed even darker, and it was like only the four of them in the world even existed.

“At home, we have flowers that we call sunflowers,” Bucky said, leaning down to examine the flower, poking the stem to make it blink like a christmas candle. “But it’s just a big ol’ yellow flower. These are like… star lilies, or something. Can-- do they… it’s so weird. At home I’d just pick ‘em and not worry on it.”

Tony plucked a flower from the ground, deftly snapping the stem, and tucked it behind Bucky’s ear. “The light will fade in a few hours,” he said. “It becomes you.” He leaned back to admire, and behind him, Rhodey and Pepper exchanged a look.

Bucky couldn’t decide if he needed to remind himself that they weren’t home, and keep his hands off Tony, or if he should remind himself that the fae had their own set of rules and laws, and Bucky didn’t know what they were -- they had rather scrupulously avoided speaking much of what had happened last night. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do; all awkward, like back when he was a teen and had grown some eight inches in half a year. He’d not really known what to do with his arms then, either. 

“Every time I think I can’t see anything prettier around here, this place turns up a new view,” Bucky said, turning around, trying to take in the whole glade at once. Not, really, that there might not have been as spectacular views at home, just Bucky’d only barely seen his bit of the city, and what was out the window on the way to the choosing. Not really much to base an entire realm off.

This hadn’t been what he wanted, or even thought about. He had been planning to work in a garage, take care of cars, if he wasn’t drafted off to the army. And sometimes he felt very small, like he wasn’t up to the task of just _existing_.

And then Tony would look at him, and everything would feel right. Like sitting down to a bowl of potato leek soup and picking a dinner roll out of the basket. _Home_. Tony was…. Home. Somehow, like he’d never had one before, and only found it in a fae man, in a strange place.

“It’s nice,” Pepper said, a little vaguely, looking out into the woods rather than at the flowers. “To see things from fresh eyes, and know they’re just as lovely as you’ve always known them to be.” She touched Tony’s shoulder, and Bucky had to swallow down a flare of jealousy as Tony looked up at her with a bright smile. “I want peppermint flowers,” she told him. “I know we passed some on the way. Will you go get some for us?” She winked impishly. “Bucky would like them, I bet.”

Tony looked over at Bucky and climbed willingly to his feet. “I think I remember where they are,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes and stood up as well. “I’m going with you,” he said. “Or you’ll get distracted and forget to come back.”

Tony scowled at Rhodey, and then pouted. “I would not!” he complained, but he tucked his arm through Rhodey’s as they crossed the field of flowers, their path shown in bright light, and then slipped into the forest.

To give himself something to do, rather than just sit there and count the moments until Tony would come back -- which was something he’d found himself doing that morning -- he plucked several of the glowing blossoms near the base of their stems and started weaving a flower crown. His sister used to do it, with a park full of dandelions until her hands were stained yellow and green, and pretend to be a fairy princess. Becca would have loved these flowers, and there was a strange, stabbing ache in Bucky’s chest at the thought that he’d never actually see her again. She’d grow up and get married and have children and tell them about her brother who’d disappeared off to the land of the fae.

“Do you love him?” Pepper asked. Bucky looked up, startled, and found her somewhat closer, still lounging amongst the flowers, watching the movement of his hands.

Bucky blinked. “I thought fae were supposed to be _subtle_ ,” he snapped back, not quite sure where she was going with this.

She laughed, a light chime. “I’ve spent too much time with Tony to be subtle,” she said. “Do you?”

Bucky considered the collection of stems that were leaking a sweet smelling sap over his fingers. Admired the way he could already manipulate the new arm that Tony had made him, how he rarely even thought about the fact that it wasn’t his… because it _was_. Tony had made it part of him, the way he’d made himself a part of Bucky’s life.

But was that love, or just the same sort of loyal puppy affection? Tony took care of Bucky. In some ways, like Bucky was a child who couldn’t take care of himself. 

Which, to some degree, was true.

“He explained it to me,” Bucky said, threading another bloom into an empty place in the circlet. “I don’t… have expectations of him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“But it’s not,” Pepper said. “I want to know if you love him. In the human way, with desire and longing and wanting to be together and...” She waved a hand. “However it is that humans love.”

Bucky snorted. “Everyone acts like that’s so strange, that he’s completely repulsive or something. He's not, you know that, right? Yeah, I want him, of course I do.” Sunset, Pepper, hell, the King had said a few things that reinforced it. That no one really thought Tony was… special. It was damned infuriating, that.

She cocked her head, studying him intently, and then looked away again, and it felt like a sudden release of pressure, ears popping from a storm rolling in too fast. “Tony doesn’t acknowledge his human half often,” she said. “It’s considered a weakness among the Court, and so he’s learned to act as if he’s entirely fae. He can’t be blamed for that, of course. But it makes it easy to forget that -- not only is he half-human in blood, but he was raised -- almost entirely, until he was nearly grown -- by his human parent.”

Bucky shook his head. “He doesn’t-- act like that around me. Like it’s somethin’ to be ashamed of.” Tony didn’t seem human, not really. He was luminous and wondrous, like touching the sky. But he was warm, and pleasant, and comforting. Not like the full fae, who were alien and untouchable. He couldn’t imagine-- taking Pepper’s hand, just to feel her skin. Not that she was anything except polite to him, but Tony-- he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him, stop looking for him. Like Tony was a magnet, and Bucky a steel pin.

“That’s... good,” Pepper said. “I think it is. I think, perhaps, he’s needed that, someone with whom he can be human.” She smiled at Bucky, and there was something sharp-edged in it, a reminder that she was a being of power. “In human stories, the sort that mortals tell their children, it’s love that wins over all else. Humans teach their children to seek out love. To be open to it. To offer their hearts.”

“And you fae like to put up a great fence and a sign that says ‘abandon all hope, ye who enter here’ around yours,” Bucky said. “Yeah, I get it. Ain’t like I can help it, you know. It just… happens. Sunset thinks Tony put a glamor on me. That I can’t help but-- well.” He couldn’t look at her, it was awkward speaking of things that didn’t mean anything.

He was human, and he was going to love. He’d get over it. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. Or he wouldn’t. Either way, it didn’t matter.

“I’m not sure you do ‘get it,’” Pepper said. “You cannot help but love because you are human, whether that is an inborn trait or a thing learned at your mother’s knee. Tony, too, has human blood and a human mother, and is -- to a distressing level, for we fae -- predisposed to giving up his heart.” The light flared as she brushed her hand over the flowers. “The fae do not give our hearts so easily, but we know loyalty. Tony is precious to me, and to Rhodey. We... trust that you will likewise honor the gifts that he chooses to give you.”

“Yeah, you got a shotgun and a shovel, lady, I hear ya,” Bucky said, anger for the whole stupid situation flaring. He clung to it with both hands. It felt… good, to be angry for himself. To be indignant and filling up with fury. “He saved my life. I ain’t… gonna throw that back in his face. I don’t think _you_ get it.” Bucky looked down at the flowers, poor things, he’d shredded them in his distress. Tony wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t going to fall in love with Bucky.

And Bucky had two choices; care about his captors, or resent them. That he _wanted_ Tony, needed him like air, well, that just made it easier to accept his situation. He could have… some sort of life here. If the damn fae would stop… meddling. 

Pepper didn’t respond right away, but he could feel her watching him. Judging. “You do burn very bright,” she murmured after a long moment, but Bucky wasn’t even sure she’d meant him to hear it.

“Right,” Bucky said. He carefully started pressing out what was left of his flower crown, trying to repair the blossoms, smoothing them out with his fingers. He took a deep breath, letting himself calm down. “What… am I supposed to do now?” He still hadn’t really admitted anything-- okay, fine. He loved Tony. And it was obviously a Big Deal. With capital letters and everything. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“I don’t know,” Pepper said with surprising candor. “If you were fae, you would not be _able_ to hurt him, but human love seems as much thorn as flower. I might suggest... telling him.”

“Yeah, right,” Bucky said, giving a dark chuckle. “I thought the whole plan was for him not to-- love me back. That’s like, real dangerous for him.”

Pepper actually laughed, then. “I think you will find that Tony has very little concern for such trivialities as _danger_ if it gets between him and a thing he wants.”

“Spoiled brat,” Bucky said, hearing the fondness coloring his tone as he said it.

“Yes, quite,” Pepper said, sounding rather fond, herself. “You may discover--”

But what it was he might discover was interrupted when Tony skipped back into the glen, making the flowers practically explode with light, nearly blinding Bucky. “Peppermint flowers!” Tony announced, and bent to kiss Bucky’s cheek before he folded to the ground and filled Pepper’s lap with tiny, greenish-white blooms. He offered one to Bucky. “Want to try one?”

“Here,” Bucky said, almost brusquely, trying not to see if Pepper was watching him. “I made this for you.” He didn’t know what he’d done, half expecting the thing to disintegrate in his hands, but he tossed it over Tony’s head and it glowed, brilliant and beautiful. Like Tony was a saint in one of the stained glass windows at church.

He took the peppermint flower, raised an eyebrow. “What, do you eat ‘em?”

Tony looked utterly delighted, touching the flower crown with a careful finger. “For me? I-- Thank you.” He smiled at Bucky, almost shy, and then waved at the little flower in Bucky’s hand. “Yes, of course, eat it! It’s good!”

“Gonna take you back to New York some time an’ introduce you fae to the concept of a hot dog,” Bucky said. “I miss real food sometimes.” Despite that, the flower smelled good, and when he took a bite, it reminded him of Christmas, all minty and sweet.

Tony’s expression went wistful, and Rhodey, just coming into the glen with his own armful of flowers, snorted. “Don’t encourage him,” Rhodey said. “He’s wanted to run away to the mortal lands since he was a babe in arms.”

“Some do, obviously,” Bucky said. “My ma met a kelpie, once. So, they come over, they must go home again. Visitin’s not _entirely_ out of the question, is it?”

“For the crown prince?” Rhodey said. “He’ll cross for occasions of state, eventually. But making the crossing has its price. It’s not something to undertake lightly.”

Bucky ate the rest of his flower, laying back in the grass to look up at the trees. “I’m not talkin’ about a light undertakin’. I’m talking about hot dogs. And _cheeseburgers_. And ice cream. Butter on toast. Eggs an’ bacon.” 

Tony was leaning over him, suddenly, blocking out the trees and the sky, his face lit by the flowers. “Don’t listen to them,” he advised. “I want to go with you. You can show me everything.”

Bucky reached up, cupping Tony’s face gently with one hand. “Yeah, we’ll do that. You’ll _love_ it.”


	13. Everything I Hold Dear

Despite Bucky’s conversation with Pepper and the implicit threat behind what she’d said, Bucky did not _immediately_ confess any such thing.

For one thing, he wasn’t sure -- not exactly. He’d had crushes before, sure. Hadn’t nearly everyone, at one time or another, had a fancy for someone else? Wasn’t it possible that Bucky was no more than infatuated, combined with a bit of desire, and quite a lot of loneliness?

He didn’t think he’d really been in love, truly in love, though. Crushes and puppy love and physical desire that faded soon after being satiated. But love?

How was he supposed to know, really, if this was… the One. People and poets always talked about it like there was some shining light of awareness, bells in the air, music in the heart.

_You can’t help but want him, can you?_

But was that enough?

The picnic ended, Rhodes and Pepper returned to their dwellings, and Bucky and Tony to their own home. 

Which raised yet another question; what, exactly, was allowed, or expected now? Was he expected to sleep in Tony’s bed again, and did he want to?

The second question was easier: of course he wanted to. He didn’t even really have to think about that part.

“Your friends are… very outspoken,” Bucky decided as a start to the conversation.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, they’re great,” Tony said. “They don’t play games and make me guess what they’re thinking.”

“Well, she doesn’t pull any punches, either,” Bucky said. “She… uh, she knows. I mean, I don’t know if that’s a thing you worry about, but if your reputation needs protectin’, you should be aware. She… uh. Yeah. Had a few things to say about it.”

Tony paused, fiddling with a piece of silver he’d been working into something. “She... Okay. Well, Rhodey must have told her. She can be incredibly protective, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure she knows it’s not your fault, you didn’t-- I mean, in the most _technical_ sense, it might be, but it wasn’t anything you did on purpose.”

Bucky shook his head; for all that Tony seemed to be very, very bright, he didn’t seem to know shit about _women_.

“I don’t know that he did,” Bucky said. “I think she just looked at me… and knew. You know. Dames. They know things. Wait, what do you mean, my fault? What’s… what’s _my fault_?”

“ _Not_ your fault,” Tony stressed, backing away a couple of steps and looking nearly panicked. “That’s the whole point, here, that it is definitely my fault. Not yours.”

Bucky found someplace to sit before he fell down, knees as wobbly as a newborn foal. “Usually-- maybe this is another mortal thing, an’ you all feel different. But when we’re speakin’ of fault and blame, it’s usually about something bad. Are… are you _sorry_?”

Tony’s eyes widened. “No! No, I couldn’t, I can’t be! I mean. Rhodey was a little upset, because he’s all doom and gloom sometimes and he thinks I’m going to, I don’t know, do something horrible and drastic, and I can see why Pepper would be worried, but it’s... It’s _worth it_.”

Bucky’s heart thumped twice in his chest like it was startled, about ready to run for it. Like Tony had just said something very important, without saying it at all. This wasn’t Pepper cautioning Bucky to be careful about possibly encouraging love, this was Pepper-- “Oh, hell.” It had _already happened_. How-- “Oh, god.” 

He should not -- _absolutely should not_ \-- have felt that surge of wild, triumphant joy, the way his entire nervous system lit up with delight. He should have been shocked, horrified, dismayed. He wasn’t _worth it_ , he was just a stupid mortal who’d blundered into the fae realm by accident and bad luck. “Tony, you didn’t-- you don’t mean--”

Tony grimaced. “I promised Rhodey I wouldn’t just blurt it out like some kind of greenstick sprite,” he mumbled. “But I guess I...” He sighed and came forward again, caught up Bucky’s hand. “Here.” Tony pressed Bucky’s hand against his own chest, over his heart, which thumped along the same way it always had. And then Tony nudged his hand just a little closer to center, and there was a soft, barely perceptible flutter, out of sync with Bucky’s own heartbeat.

“Oh, oh, _god_ ,” Bucky said, and he practically clutched at it, like it was a baby bird he could protect somehow. “How long has that been there?” He swallowed hard, looked up at Tony with sudden anguish. “Oh, god, I didn’t mean-- I didn’t mean for this to happen. You told me, oh, god, I’m… what did I do to you?” 

“I’m not sure exactly when it happened,” Tony said. He sat next to Bucky, not letting go. “I noticed it this morning. I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I just _said_ it wasn’t your fault, remember?” He smiled, small but warm. “And I said it was worth it.”

“But it is,” Bucky said, and he took Tony’s hand, pressing the back of it against his cheek. “I wanted… I wanted it. Wanted you-- Tony, I _wanted_ you to love me. And that was selfish as hell.” Because part of actual love, from everything Bucky had ever, ever been told, was wanting what was best for _that person_ , more than for yourself. “It can’t possibly be worth it. I can’t… _possibly_ be worth it.”

“Why can’t it?” Tony demanded. “It’s... it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It’s _beautiful_ , and it’s terrifying, and it’s the most precious thing I’ve ever had.” He paused, frowning. “That’s not... I gave my heart to you, but this feeling is... is mine?” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if you don’t love me, or if you do but you’ll leave. I’ll never have anything as perfect as this again, and it’s worth every moment.”

Bucky eyes filled up and tears spilled over, and he was helpless to stop them. And he knew just how useless it was to promise anything. He was mortal. Fickle. Changeable. He knew that, and everyone had been telling him since he got here, just how true that was. But God, it didn’t feel that way. Not right now. “It matters,” Bucky said, voice shaking through his tears. “It _matters_ , and I do love you.”

Tony’s eyes lit up, and god, if Bucky had thought he was beautiful before, that was nothing to this incandescent joy, now. He pulled his hand free to brush his fingers down his chest, and he laughed. “Oh, _oh_ , you do!” He kissed Bucky, then, and it was ungraceful and too hard, teeth clacking together and mouths off-center and it was perfect.

Bucky couldn’t help it, grabbed Tony’s hips and dragged the fae into his lap. “Come here, you,” he said. “Did you think I wouldn’t? I-- God, I don’t want to hurt you, I never, ever want that. I can’t believe you did this, I’m fuckin’ terrified for you, love. But I do love you, I _do_.”

Tony’s arms wound around Bucky’s shoulders and he hid his face in Bucky’s neck, and he was-- was _shaking_ , trembling like a leaf in a storm. “I love you,” he whispered. “I thought... I don’t know, I didn’t _know_ , I... I brought you here, I _stole_ you. But I love you, and I always, always will.”

“You didn’t… steal me,” Bucky swore. “You _saved_ me.”

Tony huffed out a laugh. “I’m not sure your friend Steve would agree. But I’m glad you see it that way.”

Bucky cupped Tony’s cheek, gently, the metal hand cool against warmer skin. “Everything I hold dear is right here, with you. He’ll get over it.”

***

Tony wasn’t quite asleep; he and Bucky had talked, they’d both cried, and then they’d both laughed about it. Bucky had been tender and kind and made very slow, extremely serious, and quite delightful, love to him, and they were cuddled together in Tony’s bed, just holding on and basking in the other’s affections and attention.

“I beg your pardon--” Jarvis said from the top of the stairs. He took two steps down and then stopped with a startled, “Your highness?”

Tony sighed. For a moment, he considered pretending he hadn’t heard Jarvis come in, pretending that he was entirely asleep.

But that was only delaying the inevitable. He brushed his fingers down Bucky’s cheek, then carefully untwined their limbs and sat up. “What is it, Jarvis?”

“The King wishes an audience with your highness,” Jarvis said, entirely proper and deliberately not looking at them. “At once.”

Tony grimaced. If Howard was summoning Tony _at once_ , then he was angry about something. “All right, Jarvis, I’m coming.” He leaned down and kissed Bucky’s temple. “Stay here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, your highness,” Jarvis said. “I shall let him know you’re on your way.” He waited a moment on the stairs however, and when Tony was dressed, he said, very softly, “Congratulations. I wish you both very happy.”

Even knowing he was about to be on the wrong end of his father’s temper, Tony couldn’t help the bright smile that pulled out of him. “Thank you, Jarvis. We’re very happy so far, anyway.”

He pulled on a coat made of the red of a fresh-ripened apple, gave Bucky a last fond look, and then turned toward the palace, summoning his patience and a mask of indifference.

“You will find him on the main balcony, your highness,” Jarvis said, giving Tony a little bow. 

He passed Steve, who was hovering near the balcony like he thought he should do something and didn’t quite know what, pacing around as if he could wear a hole in the carpeting of fallen leaves. 

Tony tried to catch Steve’s eye, to wave in greeting, to try to read some hint of his father’s mood from the Ambassador’s expression, but then Howard was snarling his name, and Tony was forced to turn his full attention on the king. “You summoned me, Father?”

“I did,” he said, and there was a lash of heat in his voice, fierce and furious. “But I see for myself, the rumors are true. You were supposed to be better, Anthony Edward.” And Tony could feel the actual lash in that, the tug and pull at the core of himself that came with his name. There weren’t many who had it, but his father had given him the name, or at least, made Maria share it with him, and he could, if he chose, break Tony with it.

He could count on his hands the number of times Howard had chosen to invoke it, though. He swallowed, and braced his feet, though he didn’t know what sort of attack to expect. “Better than... what?” he asked. “What have I done that is so terrible?”

“Who holds your heart? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Howard spat. He hadn’t looked at Tony, not even once. 

Tony’s mouth dropped open. “You’re--” He lifted his chin. “It’s my heart to give,” he said defiantly.

“No, it wasn’t,” Howard snarled. “Anthony Edward Stark.” The name ground him down until Tony was crumbling under the pressure. “You think you don’t owe something to this legacy? You don’t owe anything to the fae that you are supposed to rule?”

Tony was on his knees, the weight of his name too much to bear when Howard used it so mercilessly. He couldn’t be sorry, though, and he couldn’t -- even if he had wanted to -- take his heart back. “I owe them wisdom and strength,” he gritted out. “I owe them the endless summer twilight, and protection from the winter lands. I do not owe them my heart.”

“You owe them an _heir_ ,” Howard said, and he used the chains already around Tony’s spirit to squeeze and burn. “How do you plan to beget one now?”

“The same way you did, I expect,” Tony snapped back, because he’d never known when to shut up and appease his father. “Or did you expect me to believe my mother actually held your heart?”

“You can’t beget an heir without your heart, boy,” Howard said, and the weight of his name lessened, even if that squeezing pain did not. “Your _whole_ heart. Not in our fashion, and your human, your lover, he cannot… do you plan to bring in another human, a _concubine_ , and beget an heir that way? Three quarters human, do you even know if such a child would survive? Or take a wife among the fae, have them bring a child to your hearth? You’d have to set aside your human, if you do.”

“I won’t give him up,” Tony said. “Not for anything. Perhaps I’ll find another halfling to bear my heir in the human way. Or seek more subtle magics. Nothing is impossible, if you want it enough.”

“When you were born,” Howard said. “I had hopes for you. Such high hopes. The child born from _love_. Bah. Your mother was a thief. She stole what was never hers to have, made a child that has done nothing but make things harder. My legacy… the Stark legacy _ends_ with you, and what have you done? Nothing. You’ve accomplished _nothing_. You have nothing to show for my efforts. Even your bro-- You’re a disappointment.”

That was hardly new, but it stung nevertheless. “And what would you have had me do?” Tony demanded. “ _You_ sowed your contempt amongst your subjects so they disdain me now. What kind of ruler is despised by his own people? If you would just--”

“Do _not_ make demands of me,” Howard snapped. “I could have him killed. Your heart would return, in time. Perhaps.”

That hurt worse than the lash of his name. Gasping, Tony clutched at the faint flutter of Bucky’s heart under his own breast. “You wouldn’t.”

For just an instant, the chains around Tony’s lungs were loose, the pain faded, even as it left behind terrible fear. Howard’s gaze, which had been firm on the horizon, flicked back toward the hallway, where the Ambassador paced. “I’ve considered it.”

Tony followed that look, eyes widening. “It wouldn’t make him love you any better,” he said. “They’re _human_. It would have the _opposite_ effect. You know that, don’t you?”

Howard grunted, acknowledging the point. “He’ll die. They both will. Some day. They’ll get _old_. And we’ll both be alone. I’ll be alone, with a son that hates me and a son that can’t possibly measure up.”

Tony ground his teeth. “I don’t hate you,” he said. It would be so much easier, so much _simpler_ , if he did. “They’ll get old, they’ll die,” he said. “And then, perhaps, my heart will return. And I’ll be able to create an heir. It’s not so long to wait, not for you.”

“I loved your mother and she’s gone,” Howard said. “Every day is an eternity. And one day, you’ll understand that far too well.”

Tony grunted. “The humans say, _Better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all_. My mother taught me that.”

“She told me,” Howard said, “she told me _If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it’s yours._ She never came back.”

Tony felt a swell of pity for his father. “There’s no coming back from death,” he said. “She loved you her whole life.”

“It wasn’t enough,” Howard said. “Go… go back to your human and your dreams and your workshop. Find me these deep magics you claim might exist. Bring me an heir to the Stark legacy.” The last of the weight of his name dropped off Tony’s shoulders, letting him breathe. Letting him stand.

Tony climbed to his feet, took a couple of breaths to steady himself. “As you command, sire.” He bowed, a courtesy he rarely gave his father, and backed away, only barely resisting the urge to turn and run, to satisfy the desperate need to reassure himself that Bucky was still alive and safe in Tony’s bed.

“Your highness,” the Ambassador said, moving toward the door as soon as it opened. He moved his mouth around what might have been a different query altogether, but took one look at Tony’s face. “Are you all right?”

“Not... entirely,” Tony admitted. “But I will be, when I’ve seen Bucky again. My father is... not pleased.”

“I was getting that impression,” Steve said, wry. “Spent most of the morning looking at the Book, trying to decide what the most advantageous marriage would be, for you. He told me to shut up, on my name. I don’t think I _can_ talk to him now, until he lets me. That’s damn irritating.”

Tony weighed his words, and said, “I’m... sorry. If I hadn’t given Bucky my heart, he wouldn’t have been so angry.”

“He’s angry about a lot of things,” Steve said. “Mind if I walk with you? The gift of your time would be most appreciated.” He made a face at the formal words that completely belied his feelings. Steve didn’t want Tony’s time, he wanted to go with Tony to check on Bucky. Which was only sensible, if Steve had had to deal with one of Howard’s rages.

“By all means,” Tony agreed. “I’m sure Bucky would be pleased to see you.” He gestured, and led the way, Steve at his side. “Are _you_ angry?”

Steve gave Tony a long, searching glance. “No,” he said. For a few streets, it seemed like Steve wasn’t going to elaborate, and Tony was just trying to decide what he might offer for an inducement to be more forthright, when Steve sighed. “You’re a good man.”

Tony looked up at Steve, startled. “I... Thank you.”

“I hate the world,” Steve confessed. “For what it did to me. I was sick and weak and dying and angry about it. I picked fights I couldn’t win against people who were carelessly cruel to anyone else who was weak. And no one cared. Not the men who beat me down, or the women I tried to save. You know who cared? _Bucky_. Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky. And he gave up everything to follow me here. He wouldn’t have loved someone unworthy. I don’t believe that, not for a hot second. So, you’re a good man. You deserve his regard.”

Tony cocked his head, studying Steve. “You don’t think I tricked him? Glamoured him into it?”

“I was there,” Steve reminded Tony. “And I _was_ glamoured into it. You picked up a dying man for no other reason than you wanted to help. No. I don’t think you tricked him. I don’t think you had to.”

Steve’s trust was as touching as it was surprising. “Thank you,” Tony said again. “I know that Bucky values your opinion highly. I can do no less.”

“On a purely selfish note, you brought the only person _I_ can’t live without…” Steve shrugged. “I know that wasn’t what you were going for, but I’m grateful, nonetheless. He’s the only family I have.”

Tony smiled. “Then I know who to ask for a family’s blessing.”

They turned onto the last avenue between the Palace and Tony’s home…

The door was open.

Open, and somehow… _broken_.

Tony stopped dead, staring, and then broke into a run. “Bucky!”

He burst into the house, and knew immediately that it was empty, that no other living creature waited within, but he raced from room to room nevertheless, frantic and frightened. “Bucky!”

“Buck?” Steve was right behind him, hand clenched into a useless fist. “Where is he? What happened?”

Tony’s house was in ruins, the bed overturned, chairs broken, little bits of magic floating around, useless and dying. In the center of the room was a flower that hadn’t been there before, crushed like someone had stepped on it.

Tony scooped it up, cradling it in his hands, heart pounding in his chest. He was barely calm enough to breathe his glamour over the broken bloom, to coax it to whisper out its origin... When he saw it, his blood ran cold. “They took him.” He looked up and met Steve’s eyes, scared and determined and angry. “The Winter Court.”

 


	14. Of Stone and Ice

There was a crack in the wall. Bucky was laying on rock, aching and scared, and staring at a crack in the wall. He tried to bolt upright and struck his head. 

He wasn’t sure where he was. Someplace cold. Contained by rock. Bedrock. Deep rock. Stones and solid and gravity and weight. They pressed in on him.

He couldn’t even stand up, the ceiling was too close. The best he could do was a sort of dim crouch, which was hell on his already aching back. He ended up kneeling, trying to get a feel for his surroundings.

The stones _hated_ him; he could feel it everyplace the rough rock touched his skin. Human. Weak. Worthless. Mortal.

There was a crack in the wall, but no door. No window. He was in a hole in a stone somewhere and there was no way out.

Bucky clutched at his head, trying to remember. What had _happened_ , how had he gotten here?

Tony had gone because his father had summoned him--

_Bucky lay on the bed where he and Tony had loved each other thoroughly. He was pleasantly sore and satisfied. A little worried for Tony. The King was harsh and his summons had sounded like they weren’t going to be fun._

_But Tony was the Prince. What could Howard possibly do to him that he hadn’t already done?_

_The door flew open and Tony staggered inside, falling to his knees. He glanced up at Bucky, face in the shadow, to smile weakly. “I brought you a flower,” he said._

_“Tony, you’re hurt, what did he--”_

_Bucky was out of bed and by Tony’s side in a single breath, and then…_

There was a flare of pain in Bucky’s skull and he reached back… a tender bruise there. Someone had hit him? How?

“Tony?” Bucky cried out. If he was a prisoner, maybe Tony was somewhere close. Maybe…

Bucky put his hand to his chest, trying to feel for that second heartbeat. It was there, beating faster. Frightened, maybe? “Tony!”

Silence, for a long moment, and then quietly, through the crack: “Bucky?” It was hoarse and broken, but it was...

“Tony!”

A bright flare of light nearly blinded him, piercing painfully into his eyes and skull after so long in the dark. A woman’s figure appeared, and the light dimmed to a more bearable level. She was fae, of course, tall and slender and beautiful, all blues and silver, even her skin and hair. “Ah, you’ve woken. Good.”

Bucky stared around. The tiny little hole where he’d been crouched was gone and he was kneeling on a carpet made of frost, staring at a throne of ice and the woman in front of it… reached out long, pale fingers to touch his skin. Bucky flinched back away from her, searching for Tony, but-- “Where’s Tony? Where is he?”

“The prince is safe enough,” she said. She traced her fingernails down his cheek and they were like icicles. “What’s your name, mortal?” A swirl of wind circled Bucky, tugging at his clothes and his hair, trying to pull him toward her-- Not wind, he realized suddenly, but her glamour, rendered useless by the ring on his finger. Tony’s ring.

Bucky clenched his fist. “People call me Bucky.” Which was the truth, and she was a fae, even if she’d captured him, and she was due respect, politeness. Or she’d have claim on him. 

Her eyes narrowed, and the wind whipped around him like a gale. “What is your _name?_ ” she insisted.

Bucky shivered under her wind, even as its talons raked his skin, it couldn’t seem to hold him. Emboldened, he managed to stand. “What’s yours, ma’am?”

She reared back, shocked and verging on offended. “I was offering the chance to do this the easy way,” she said. “But it seems my advisor was correct about mortal stubbornness.” She pointed at him, and the wind tore at his clothes and ice pellets stung at his skin.

Bucky planted his feet and the wind howled around him. But he’d been born and raised in New York City. He’d worn shoes with holes in them that hadn’t kept out the slush in February. “You’re gonna have to blow harder than that, lady, if you think you can keep me down. I’m a Brooklyn boy.”

The wind ceased. Completely. “I can see that you are protected from glamour,” she said. “But if you believe this means I can’t hurt you...” She pointed to the side of the room, away from Bucky, and--

A scream rent the air, a howl of pain and terror.

Bucky’s heart stuttered and squeezed in sudden agony, knowing-- “You icy bitch, give me Tony!” He lunged for the sound, but he couldn’t seem to find the doors in this place, it was all empty and mist, it was, “ **TONY**! Tony, no!”

Like a trapped bird, the heart that wasn’t his hammered in his chest, as if trying to escape.

The scream went on for longer than it seemed air should last, stretching endlessly as Bucky scrabbled at the walls. Finally, the fae dropped her arm and the sound cut off. “I’ll leave you to consider things,” she said, almost pleasantly. “Perhaps next time I ask, you’ll have an answer for me.”

Light flared, and she was gone again... and Bucky was back in the rock, staring at a crack.

“Oh, God, Tony?” Bucky reached for the crack, touching the stone that hated him, that wanted him in pain, hoping for a flare of hope beyond it. “Tony, are you there?”

Quiet, and then, shaking and hoarse. “Bucky? Is that--” He broke off, coughing wetly. “Are you all right?”

“Tony? Yeah, I’m… I’m not hurt. Are--” What was he going to say, was Tony all right? With those screams. No, he wasn’t all right, and Bucky didn’t know if he was strong enough to hear what agonies they’d visited on Tony. “What are they doing? What do they _want_?”

“Control. Revenge. Power. Does it matter?” Tony’s voice broke, and he hissed out a few breaths. “Where are you?”’

“I’m in a hole,” Bucky said. “It’s a fucking _hole_ , I can’t even stand up, it’s… there’s no way out.” Panic clawed at him again, feeling crushed, feeling every erg of hatred the stones had for him. How the hell was he going to survive, someplace where the very rock under his feet loathed him?

“Hey, take a breath, it’s okay, it’s not... it’s not what it looks like. You can... Your ring. Touch it to the walls. Should break the illusion, or at least--” Another pause to cough. “--at least dim it a little.”

Bucky shifted a little, moving closer to the wall. He spread his hand and pressed the iron and silver ring to the rock, which seemed to shudder away at the touch. It didn’t quite melt away; it was like sitting in the middle of a fog, but he could-- he could see, at least as far as what was directly in front of him. Stone walls, further away than he’d thought. Stalactites as thick as Bucky’s leg kept the room locked, the gaps between them tiny and uneven, but he could see.

“Oh, _god_.” His voice caught on a sob. Tony was laying maybe fifteen feet away from him, too weary and injured to even sit up. Blood dotted his clothes, and where his skin was exposed, it looked blue, frostbitten. “Tony.”

Tony pulled his arm over his face. “Don’t look, it’s... They’re using me to try to get to you.”

 _Yeah, it’s working, too_ , Bucky thought. His heart squeezed again, and it was painful, actively anguished, to think of them hurting Tony. “Why? What-- what do they think I can do?”

Tony huffed out a wry little laugh with nothing at all like humor in it. “You have the prince’s heart, and the Ambassador’s friendship. You can do... a lot.”

“Yeah, I ain’t inclined to do nothin’ for someone who’s gonna hurt you,” Bucky said, knowing he was fronting. “It’ll be okay, Tony. Steve’ll come for me.”

Assuming that anyone even knew they were gone. Tony didn’t visit with his father if he could help it. It could be _days_ before anyone thought to look for them. Could he last for days?

Could _Tony_?

“How… what can we do? Is there anything I can do?” Bucky burst, and he was sobbing, helpless and hopelessly, trying to squeeze through the stone bars, but he wasn’t slender enough, and he wasn’t strong enough to break them.

Tony shook his head, arm still over his face. “Be strong,” he whispered. “Help me be strong.”

“ _Can_ I help you?” Bucky asked, still stretched as far as he could get, trying to reach, like somehow he’d be able to extend his arm another seven feet or more.

“You mean as more than just... encouragement?” Tony rolled onto his side, wincing and flinching with every small movement. “I don’t think so. Not while you’re holding your name.”

“Tony--” Bucky felt his skin tear as he pushed on the stones, unyielding. “-- I would do anything for you, you know that. I’m--” He almost said he was sorry, but he didn’t want to take that responsibility. The Ice Queen’s decisions were her own, and Bucky wasn’t going to shoulder that burden. “I love you.”

For a change, the declaration didn’t set off the matching frisson and warmth in his chest. Like… like Tony didn’t _believe_ him.

“I know,” Tony said, but it sounded... small. Weak. “Just... hold fast. Someone will come for us, eventually.”

“Tony--” Bucky shoved at the stones, tried to push the silver arm between them, as if he could get better leverage. “Tony, don’t… please. Tony _I love you_ , tell me what I can do. Tell me!”

Tony sighed. “I don’t know. If I had your name, I could borrow your strength, keep some of the pain at bay. Hold out longer. Maybe I can think of a way to use the ring, too, but everything’s so... It’s hard to think.”

“Tony,” Bucky said, sure and strong and suddenly full of bright hope. “Look at me, honey. Let me-- let me help you.”

Tony shook his head. “You shouldn’t, it’s not safe.”

“I… would have told you,” Bucky said. “We just didn’t have enough time. Tony-- Tony, my name is James. It’s James Buchanan Barnes.” For just a moment, the name lingered in his mouth, like a swallow of something precious, more valuable than diamonds.

Tony went still. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he whispered, barely a breath, barely loud enough for Bucky to hear it, but he felt the tug of it, felt the way it curled around his bones and bound him to Tony. Tony sat up, then, smoothly, as if all his injuries had faded away. Bucky had a moment to be relieved and overjoyed and then Tony looked at him, blue eyes shining in the darkness.

Bucky tried to wince, to flinch, anything. Recoil in horror, but he was stuck as sure as if he’d been thrust into ice.

Those ice blue eyes, wholly unlike Tony’s warm brown, fixed on him.

Tony -- _not_ Tony, but something that looked almost exactly like him -- smiled, slow and cruel. “Thank you, James,” he said. He stood up, and the heavy stones that separated them melted away at his touch, and he came closer. “Oh, look at you, all scared and angry. I’m going to give you a gift, James.” He leaned down, close enough for Bucky to feel his breath, cold and putrid. “I’m going to take away all those painful memories.”

***

Tony clutched at his chest. Bucky’s heart was racing so hard and fast it _hurt_. Bucky was in pain, afraid, and Tony didn’t know where he was or how to comfort him. “No, no, no, no-- What, what can I...” He spun around, staring blindly around the room at the disarray.

“Hey,” Steve’s voice was -- well, it wasn’t calm, it was nowhere near calm, but it was steady -- a rock under the swaying landscape. His hand came down on Tony’s shoulder, like he was being held down. “Tell me what you know. Then tell me what you can guess. Will Howard help?”

Tony snorted. “No. He doesn’t like that I gave Bucky my heart; he’d probably be grateful if they--” Tony stopped and swallowed, held up the flower. “The Winter Court,” he said. “No question about it. They broke in, took him. I can... I can feel him, he’s scared, maybe hurting. I can only assume they’re doing it to get to me through him.”

“All right, rescue plan,” Steve said. “They came all the way through the city. This isn’t some creeping around the edge bog-monster. Maybe someone saw them. We can track them back. Behind enemy lines or not. We can get him back.”

Tony stared at Steve in despair. Steve had no idea, _none_ , what he was saying. “These aren’t the mortal lands,” he said. “Whoever took him came disguised, under a glamour. The only way to see through that is with iron -- which none of the fae have, obviously -- or if you know their name.”

Steve made a noise. “Is that why Howard told everyone _my_ name?”

“Yeah, that was a power move on his part,” Tony said apologetically. “Also, a dick move.” He chewed on the side of his thumb, staring into the distance. “Maybe... maybe Bruce will be able to find something for me, if the rumors stretch into the borderlands. He has some way of keeping an eye on the Court.”

Steve looked down at his hands, big and strong, as if he had never seen them before, which to some degree, Tony supposed might be true. That Steve’s hands had changed almost as much as Bucky’s had. “Um. Does it matter, I mean, I can’t do magic, but… uh. I know Bucky’s name.”

Tony’s heart nearly stuttered to a halt. “You... You do? You know his... The _whole thing?_ ”

“Yeah, he-- uh, kinda hates it. I’ve heard his mom yelling at him, around their house, most of my life,” Steve said. “She, Ma Barnes, I mean, she gave it to him. That’s… that’s something, right? That I know just how she says it.”

Tony closed his eyes. “That’s... that’s _everything_ ,” he breathed. “We can _find_ him, with that. It can lead you straight to him.” He looked at Steve, a fragile, fluttering hope hiding in his chest. “We can get him back.”

“Believe me, I got no intentions of leaving him in enemy hands,” Steve said. “We need to gear up, weapons, allies, anything. And then, you have to tell me what to do.” Steve looked like that was the hardest thing he’d ever said in his life. 

“Weapons, I can give you,” Tony said. “Allies... I don’t know how many of those we’ve got. My father will forbid anyone to help me if he finds out.” He made a face. “Including you. If you’re going to help me, you need to not go back to the Palace.”

Steve laughed, a little bitterly. “I can’t talk to Howard, right now. I think he’s going to find out the hard way that giving me orders I don’t like means he’s gonna like the results even less.”

Tony grinned, despite the fear and desperate need to get Bucky back. “Yeah, I’m seeing that. Come on, let’s go to my workshop and see what we can put together in the way of weapons.”

Tony didn’t keep many weapons; most of what he made were for a particular purpose, a particular user, and given over as soon as they were done. He found a long knife that would fit Steve’s hand, though, and they lingered for a short while, just long enough for Tony to coat the edge with a very thin scrim of steel.

Steve was not at all like Bucky -- and how Tony’s heart ached, thinking of it. He pressed against the little flutter in his chest, wishing Bucky could feel it, could know they were coming for him. Steve didn’t sit and read, he didn’t watch what Tony was doing, he didn’t even ask questions. He was busy, walking around, looking at things, touching things, moving things. Like he was a bundle of energy that just couldn’t be contained.

There was a clatter and ringing noise of metal dropping to the floor as Steve tugged at something, nearly yanking a shelf down on top of his head in the process. “What’s this?”

 _This_ had been an experiment in balance and aerodynamics, in shaping metal and polishing it. What had started out the size of a cup ended up being somewhat larger than a fae’s chest, perfectly round, and almost a perfect dome. 

Not particularly useful, or so the old blacksmith had told Tony, but pretty nonetheless, and deadly. “I suppose you could throw it at someone, as a weapon of last resort,” he’d said, keeping his own hands well away from the iron-based alloy.

“Nothing, really,” Tony said. “I was just fooling around, trying to see just how elastic the metal was. It’s not much use.”

“It’s so _light_ ,” Steve said, hefting it a few times. The disk made a strange, metallic sound, as it shimmered, like distant thunder. There were straps on it, to keep Tony from cutting his hands open on the edges -- even as a half fae, iron directly in a wound would probably hurt or scar him -- and Steve slid one arm through it, gripping the second strap in his hand. He turned, holding the thing over his chest. “How does it look?”

“Like... a too-small shield,” Tony said. Steve seemed particularly enamored of it, though, running his free hand over the edge. “You can have it if you want it. You’ll have to find somewhere other than the Palace to store it, though.”

“Seems like a great way to get out of all the damned small talk at the Palace,” Steve said. 

There was another flutter of terror, frustration in Tony’s chest and then--

_\-- a burst of joy, relief so great that Tony was shaking from it--_

_\-- a surge of hatred, fear so great Tony thought he might vomit--_

_Somewhere, in the distance, Tony thought he heard Steve call his name, concerned._

And the heartbeat in Tony’s chest… _stopped_. The little flutter, the heat and warmth that was Bucky-- was gone. Replaced by a tiny ball of ice, hard and achingly cold.

“Bucky,” Tony whispered. “No, no, no--” Steve was gripping his arm, all but holding him up from where he’d nearly fallen to the floor. “They’ve done something to him,” Tony said, all but choking on it. “He’s not... not _dead_. I don’t think. But he’s not _alive_ , either.” He looked up into Steve’s face. “We have to go. _Now_.”


	15. In the Name of the King

There were chains around him that he couldn’t see; ropes that tied him down and strings that lifted him up. He knew -- foggily, wearily, like trying to think through haze -- that something was wrong, desperately wrong, but he couldn’t remember what it was.

He was standing, standing, and listening. Someone was talking, but he wasn’t sure they were even talking to him. 

He couldn’t remember how he got there.

He didn’t know where he was.

He didn’t… he didn’t know _who he was_.

That should probably have bothered him, although he could not have given an account of why it should bother him.

There was a fluttering, frantic, in his chest. He raised his fingers to press against his chest and an icy hand knocked his wrist aside.

“No,” a voice spoke, and he didn’t know who was talking. He tried to raise his gaze to look, and he couldn’t do that, either. “Take it off.”

“Take-- take what off?” 

“The ring, you useless mortal,” said another voice. “Take it off and throw it into the fire!”

He looked down at his hands, one pale flesh and the other intricate and silver. On his right hand, he wore a beautiful silvery ring, inscribed with runes and filled with-- Iron.

He moved the metal left hand to his finger, gripping the ring, preparing to twist it off.

“Tony?” Bucky staggered, fell to his knees. “Who are you, you’re not Tony, you’re not my Tony, where is he--”

“Stop him, he’s breaking through!”

A hand closed on his silver wrist, pulling it away. “James Buchanan Barnes,” the not-Tony hissed, and the invisible chains around him tightened, squeezed all the air from his lungs, all the blood from his limbs, all the thoughts from his head.

He didn’t know where he was, or what he was doing.

“--just going to have to let him keep it,” a voice was saying. “It might serve our purpose, though. If he can’t be glamoured, then he can simply walk through many defenses...”

He’d lost something, something important, something precious. There was a hole in him, where it had been. 

“Soldier,” a woman said, and he looked up, he could actually look up. Was that his name, that was what he was called? He stood, awaiting her pleasure.

“Ready to comply,” he said. He barely even recognized his own voice. If he hadn’t felt his throat moving, he might not have known at all. 

“You will do great things, my pet,” the woman said. “A Champion of Winter. The Winter Soldier, yes, I think that will do nicely. We have a mission for you. To pave the way for freedom for all of our kind. You will go to the Palace of the Summer King, and you will stab him with this blade. Do you understand?”

The Winter Soldier nodded. “I understand. King Howard will die.”

“You will then kill the Human Ambassador and cut off his head. You will bring the head to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Queen.” There was something inside him that shuddered and struggled with that idea, that-- no. He was the Winter Soldier. He belonged to the Queen. He had no other wishes, except what she required of him.

“You will come back to me, even if every plan goes awry, do you understand? You must come home, no matter what.”

“I will return to you, My Queen.”

She stopped looking at him, and the Winter Soldier remained standing, at attention. “Take him to our new ally. She will be able to get him very close.”

“Of course,” the other voice said. The Winter Soldier could not see the speaker, could not turn his head or shift his eyes to look. But then the man walked across the Winter Soldier’s field of view, and there was something about him, something...

It was gone.

“Come with me,” the other voice commanded.

The Winter Soldier fell in behind the commander. He held the blade in his silvery hand, and tried to ignore the frantic, fluttering thing in his chest. It didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t important. It couldn’t be important. Only the mission was important. Kill the King, kill the Ambassador. Go home. 

There was a path, a tunnel, a stairway, a door... It was all of those things, and none of them. It shifted subtly, and there was only darkness on the far side. “Through there.”

The Winter Soldier didn’t nod, didn’t even acknowledge the commander. He didn’t look at the commander. He entered the -- passageway.

For a long moment, everything was darkness and cold, and he found himself reaching for the flutter again, the heat and comfort of it. Touched it, for just a moment.

_Tony--_

“Well, look at you,” a voice said, another voice. “I didn’t expect to see you in my chambers again, so… overdressed for the occasion.”

Something was not right. He didn’t know this woman. He didn’t like the way she touched him, as if she owned him. Only the Queen owned him, and the Queen’s... servant? Consort? Not this woman.

It didn’t matter. She pulled away and led him to a door. “You know where you’re going?”

“I know the way to the Palace,” the Winter Soldier said. “You will remain here and hold the way open for my return.” 

He did not like this woman. He did not want to be here. Her home reminded him-- reminded him… he… had stood here. Why had he stood here, with this woman? For her… He looked at her and didn’t know her. She was lovely, and cold, and… branded around the neck. 

A familiar brand, and the Winter Soldier stared at it. He knew that sigil. He…

He had a mission to fulfill. He-- icy chains tightened around his chest until he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, his bones ached, he-- belonged to the Queen. The Queen would protect him.

Pressure eased, and he knew his mission.

“Ready to comply,” he said. He brushed past the woman as if she was no longer important. 

***

Tony had closed his ears when Steve had laid Bucky’s true name in the spell. It had been tempting to listen, to learn his love’s name, but much as he longed to know it -- he needed for Bucky to _give_ it to him. To simply _take_ it was... a violation.

So Tony closed his ears, and Steve had placed Bucky’s name in the spell, and then Tony had finished the weaving, and wrapped it around Steve’s wrist, so that it would pull him toward Bucky.

Steve turned in a slow circle, then-- “That way.” He pointed. “It’s not really very exact, is it? It’s not going to take us by the roads.”

“No,” Tony said. “But it’s all we’ve got.” He set off in the direction Steve was pointing, stretching his legs as far as he could. That aching cold core that was Bucky’s heart burned, guttered, and burned again. Tony didn’t know what that meant, but he knew it couldn’t be good, whatever it was.

It didn’t take them too long to get out of the city, and then Steve was walking even faster, and faster. “How long can you run?” Steve wondered. “Because after what the king did to me, I can run faster than a car.”

Tony didn’t know what a _car_ was.

On the other hand, out of the city, he had some alternatives to walking or running. He extended a tendril of glamour, charming and coaxing, and a moment later, a stag walked out of the trees and dipped its head to Tony. Tony patted the creature’s neck and then pulled himself up onto its back. “Run, then,” he told Steve. “We’ll keep up.”

“I think I sat on this guy once before,” Steve said, giving the stag a flat hand to sniff at. “Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

Steve wasn’t kidding; whatever a car was, it was nearly faster than Tony’s stag. His legs blurred and his arms moved and his entire body seemed to bounce along as he ran. East. Always east, away from the heat of the sun. Toward winter and darkness and cold.

Nothing Tony hadn’t expected, but it didn’t please him, either. He was just as vulnerable in the east as the court of Winter would be at the Palace.

His only advantage was a lump of iron in his pocket, and the iron-forged shield on Steve’s arm.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, as long as they saved Bucky. Tony pressed close against the stag’s neck, encouraging it to go faster, feeding its strength with his own.

They were nearly to the border when suddenly Steve yelped, fell, rolled on the ground, and came up facing back the way they came.

“What the sam hill?” Steve wondered. He turned all the way around in a circle, only to face back toward the city.

The flutter of Bucky’s heart thudded, dread surrounded Tony, and he nearly fell off his mount.

“He... moved? Back-- That’s not possible,” Tony said, scrambling for some handhold of logic. “To create a Shortcut into the Summerlands, one of the Summer fae would have had to invite the Winter into their home. Who would do such a thing?”

But Steve’s arm continued to point back toward the city.

If the Winter had a Shortcut into the Summerlands, then things were even worse than Tony had feared. However angry Howard still was with Tony, he had to be told. “Right,” he said grimly, turning his mount. “Back, then.”

Steve nodded, panting for breath. Visibly steeled himself. And they ran back west.

***

The woman kept touching the Winter Soldier. Her hand on his wrist, his neck, his shoulder. He shrugged her off and moved through the streets of the fae city like a shadow. Ignored her. 

The palace appeared at the end of the boulevard, which was straight and lined with blossoming fruit trees. The petals shook free of their hold in the evening breeze, like snowfall. The Soldier stopped, looking up at the Palace.

“Stay here,” he told her. “Keep the Way open. I won’t be long.”

She arched a delicate eyebrow at him. “Confident, aren’t you? I’ll wait as long as it pleases me. You know Anthony’s not even in the Palace, don’t you?”

“The Queen cares nothing about your pleasure,” the Winter Soldier said. “You will stay and complete your part of the mission.” He flexed his fingers, wondering what her throat would feel like under his hand. 

She turned her nose up at him. “I liked you better when you were scared and embarrassed,” she said. “Go on, do whatever it is you’re supposed to do.”

The Queen had not given him leave to kill this woman, so she lived, but only by the Queen’s grace. He could find his way home if he needed to, without her help. He strode off toward the Palace, not looking back. 

He felt the wards on his face like the brush of cobweb, but raising one hand shattered them as they touched his iron ring. He was the Queen’s Fist, he would usher in a new era. The Winter Soldier entered the hall of living stone, where each of the fae rulers were immortalized, their likeness captured by artisans and displayed for everyone to see.

The Winter Soldier ignored these, knowing the Court room --

One of the very last statues was of a familiar form, lithe and dextrous, a devil-may-care smirk painted on stone lips.

The Winter Soldier reached up as if to touch the statue.

 He was… 

… he staggered to a halt…

What was he doing here? He-- Couldn’t remember where he was, what he was doing? He might have remained there, staring helplessly up at the statue, his heart aching, his bones shattering, except someone opened the door to the throne room and--

The Winter Soldier hid behind the statue until the fae left. 

Now, now was his best chance.

He drew the stone blade and slipped into the throne room.

The Summer King was not on the throne, but standing before a window, looking out over the land. His hands were cupped around something the Winter Soldier could not see, and he was murmuring quietly to himself.

The Winter Soldier moved, slow and careful, from one shadow to the next, until the King was within his grasp. Perhaps it would have been best if the Winter Soldier had moved to attack that unprotected back, struck before his enemy could see him. A step, two steps closer. “Sire.”

The King turned, startled, and his eyes grew round. “Bucky?”

“Your son sends me,” the Winter Soldier said, saying words he didn’t understand, that he didn’t remember being told to say, “by way of the Queen, in repayment.”

He grabbed the King around the shoulders, pulled him in. The knife slid into the King’s belly like a stick into water.

The King gasped and clutched at the Winter Soldier’s shoulders, even as his knees buckled. “Tony would never--”

The Winter Soldier pushed the knife deeper, twisting the blade inside the King’s guts, feeling his life spilling out onto the floor. “Gregory never forgot. Even if you did.”

He let go of the King, job done, body broken and bleeding on the floor. Pulled the knife out and wiped the blood off on the sleeve of the King’s robes. He wrinkled his nose. There was no one else in the room; the Ambassador was nowhere to be seen. He would have to search for the mortal that sat at the King’s hand.

Footsteps approached, from the outer chamber, and then a voice, somehow familiar. “Sire, I’ve sent out the searchers, but if they don’t want to be found--”

The Winter Soldier didn’t bother to try to hide, faced the fae with blood on his hands and the King dead or dying behind him. He turned the blade in his hand, prepared to throw.

The fae was fast, _very_ fast. He’d barely stepped through the door before his weapon was drawn, a shield of magic glowing before him. “Halt!” he demanded. “In the name of the--” His eyes skittered over the King’s fallen body and widened. “Sire!” His teeth bared, and he charged toward the Winter Soldier.

One hand out and up, the ring breaking through the fae’s shield, shattering it at a touch. He hadn’t turned the knife again, so the Winter Soldier dropped it, punched, caught the blade. It was blocked by the fae’s arm, pushing the knife to the floor. It fell, shattered. 

The Winter Soldier punched, hit the fae in the face with the silver hand.

“Bucky!” the fae shouted, staggering back and clapping a hand to his bleeding face. “What are you doing? Why are you doing this?”

“I don’t answer to you, Summer scum,” the Winter Soldier spat. He took two steps backward, turned, and bolted. It wouldn’t take long for the warrior to call for reinforcements. He had to get back to the Queen. The king was dead, or would be soon. The Ambassador was nowhere to be found. Half the job was better than none.

He ran.

The Knight pursued him, feet pounding against the soft, mossy floor. “Stop!” he called, anger in every note.

He managed to make it out of the Palace and halfway down the boulevard before the warrior knocked him off his feet. They struggled there, the Winter Soldier trying to get away, the warrior trying desperately to pin him down.

The Winter Soldier turned, stretching his hand. “In the Queen’s name, you useless bitch, help me.”

The Queen’s ally came out of the shadows and threw a glamour that the Winter Soldier could not see. He felt it pass him like the heat of a summer wind, and the warrior shied back, eyes tearing and blinking rapidly, suddenly blind. She didn’t hesitate, just grabbed the Winter Soldier’s wrist and jerked him to his feet, pulling him down the path. “What did you _do?_ ” she demanded.

Behind them, the warrior was climbing to his own feet, clearing the glamour from his eyes.

“What the Queen willed,” the Winter Soldier said. He grabbed the woman’s hand, and they ran together. If either of them were caught, it would be death, or worse, for both of them. He could not open the Way without her, and she had been seen. “You’ll get just what you asked for, your reward.”

There was part of him that knew, deep inside him, what that reward was, and the Winter Soldier quailed at it, but he served the Queen, as all must serve the Queen and he would do his duty. “Anthony is king now.”

***

They’d barely run twenty minutes in the other direction when Steve’s wrist swung around again. “How is he doing that?” Steve demanded, staring, frustrated, as if his own fingers had betrayed him.

Tony pressed his hands to his forehead. “They have to have some sort of portal into the Summerlands. I...” He looked up at Steve in despair. “I _have_ to make sure my father is warned of this. It’s a danger to the whole kingdom.”

“Bucky is back that way,” Steve said. He wasn’t yelling, not quite, but there was a certain tone in his voice, a certain sternness that said yelling probably wasn’t far off now.

Tony swallowed, hard. “I know. _Believe_ me, I know. But I’m... Whether they hate me or not, I’m the _prince_ , Steve. I can’t throw away my responsibility just because it hurts me.”

Steve straightened his shield on his arm, nodding. “Howard doesn’t deserve you,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“We’ll go as quickly as we can,” Tony promised, urging his stag into a faster lope. “The first even moderately responsible fae we run across can take the news the rest of the way, and then we’ll go back for him, I swear.”

“I’ll take the first irresponsible fae we can find,” Steve said. “Even an idiot can deliver a memo.”

“Let’s see who we run across,” Tony hedged. Some of the sprites would absolutely forget their charge before they got to the Palace with it.

In the end, they didn’t have to pick anyone, or argue about it, because Rhodey and Roxxie practically dropped out of the sky onto them, slamming into the soil with the force of a catapult. “Where have you been?”

“Rhodey!” Tony threw himself at his friend in relief. Rhodey was a Knight, he would absolutely make sure this was handled. “Rhodey, the Winter Court, they have some kind of way into the City, a _Shortcut_ , Rhodey! We have to--”

Rhodey slid off his mount, knelt on the ground and bowed his head. “Your Majesty,” he said.

Cold dread froze Tony into place. “That’s not funny, Rhodey, this is important! The Winter Court has Bucky, and--” He broke off, staring at the grim expression on Rhodey’s face. The blood that stained his shirt. “No,” he whispered. “Rhodey...”

“I’m so sorry, Tones,” Rhodey said. “The healers did everything they could. And, it gets worse. I don’t want to tell you, but you gotta hear it. The… your… It was your human. Your Bucky. He stabbed the King with a knife. Fled with Sunset, through a Shortcut to Winter.”

“No,” Tony repeated, but it was weak. He’d known. He’d known, as soon as he’d felt Bucky’s heart turn cold in his chest, as soon as Bucky had jumped from Winter to Summer. “No, he can’t, it’s not--” He slid off his mount to kneel on the ground, numb with despair and grief too heavy to bear. “My _father?_ ”

“We closed the Shortcut,” Rhodey said. “You have to come with me, your Majesty. We have to prepare for war against Winter. This won’t stand.”

Steve scowled. “What happens to the Ambassador, now that the King’s gone?” He wiped roughly at his face, tears that marred his skin. So, he had cared, after all.

“I don’t... I don’t know,” Tony admitted. He felt, suddenly, very, very small. Weak and helpless. Bucky would have been Tony’s Ambassador, given a choice, but even if Bucky weren’t being held captive by Winter, he could hardly simply turn Steve out. “I’m not sure there’s a precedent.” He couldn’t make himself look up at either of them. “War,” he said quietly. “Yes, that’s... They have to pay.” That felt more certain. “They have to learn that we will not tolerate such despicable action!” Anger roared through him, burning out the grief.

A hand touched his shoulder. “You know Buck wouldn’t do that, right? Somethin’s… there’s something wrong with him, Tony.”

Tony put his hand over his chest, where the cold wrongness of Bucky’s heart still lay. “I know,” he said. “They did something to him. But if we can’t undo it...” He closed his hand, fisting the cloth, unable to say the words.

“That’s the first step to solving this,” Steve said. “We have to get their weapon back. We have to take it away from them. Buck’s mortal, he’s a mortal, he can touch iron, and he can hurt the hell out of your people. We have to get him back, whatever it takes.”

It might have been a desperate gambit, a rationalization for what Steve wanted to do anyway... but Tony shared in that frantic need. He nodded, reached up without looking, catching Steve’s wrist and letting the mortal draw him to his feet. He turned to Rhodey.

“Rally the troops, gather the warriors, see to the defenses,” he said. “Send a runner into the Borderlands and find out if Bruce will stand with us. The Winter Court broke _centuries_ of treaties; that has to have some weight, even with the Border folk. You know where we’re weakest, and how best to position everyone. I’d be useless and underfoot, anyway.”

Rhodey gave Tony another bow, and if his heart hadn’t been with Bucky anyway, it might have broken at the sight of it. He wasn’t ready to be the king, he wasn’t ready to deal with the reality of his father’s death. Especially… after everything he’d learned, Howard -- his father -- might not have been quite the devil Tony had always thought. “At once, your Majesty.” 

And then a quick hug. “You be careful, Tones. We need you to come back.” He pointed a finger at Steve. “You bring him back, you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

Tony looked at Steve, then, examined the human’s austere, handsome face. “Ambassador. How would you like to be the King’s Protector?”

“Does it come with my own private bedroom, because I’d really kinda like that,” Steve said, wistfully.

“Well, you’re certainly not sharing with _me_ ,” Tony said. He clapped Rhodey on the shoulder. “Go. Put Pepper in charge of the Palace, for now.” He climbed back onto his mount; the poor thing must be nearing exhaustion, and there was only so much of his own strength that Tony could give, if they were going to be fighting soon.

Well... He watched Rhodey fly off again, then looked thoughtfully at the horizon. “If I’m really the King,” he mused, “then I should be able to create a Shortcut to anywhere in the realm, even if I've never been there. Which way is Bucky, now?”

Steve raised his arm and pointed. “That way. East.”

Tony nodded and closed his eyes, feeling the swirling eddies of the magic, reaching into them and gathering the threads. “East, it is.” He tugged, and tugged harder, and then opened his eyes and saw the Shortcut.

It ached, deep in his chest, the knowledge that his father truly was gone. But he didn’t have time to mourn, now. “The Eastern Border,” he told Steve, and gestured. “Let’s go.”

 


	16. The Discharge of Duty

The border was wide, even at the Official Crossing, where sometimes Winter and Summer would meet. There hadn’t been a Moot in recent memory; Howard’s father’s father had attended the last.

There was a single guard, at each border station; one summer, one winter. The guard changed every few days. “We’re gonna have to go around,” Steve said, looking out from his hiding place behind a thicket of rose bushes. “Can’t risk setting off any sort of alarm.”

Tony considered it. He might be able to bluster his way past the Summer guard, but the fewer Winter fae knew of their presence, the better. “Yeah, okay.” He consulted his mental map of the territory. “We can cross at the Field of Blood,” he said. “No one would be anywhere near there to see us.”

“I’m almost positive I don’t want to know why it’s called that,” Steve complained, but he shouldered the shield and headed in the direction Tony pointed. It wasn’t far, luckily. Or unluckily, as one might have it.

The Field was… desolate. Full of wisps and sometimes sluagh prowled the dead and dying bushes and grasses. Bodies remained behind, preserved through some foul magic, mostly skeletal, but sometimes a mummified face would remain, mouth open in terror. The greatest and worst battle between Winter and Summer had taken place there, on the border. The very ground was poisoned by curses and generations of hatred.

“Oh. I see why it’s called that,” Steve said, faintly.

Tony looked out over the horror, trying to steel himself against it. He’d seen it before, but every time, the sheer depth of it was always a shock. “For Bucky,” he said bracingly. He glanced at Steve. “Ready?”

“Not even a little,” Steve said, but he lifted his shoulders, straightened his back. “Let’s do it.”

It wasn’t far, and yet it was the longest walk of Tony’s life, stepping over and around the bodies of the dead, not wanting to wake any vengeful spirits that might not remember friend from foe, not wanting to disturb the rest of any of the brave who’d fallen. In the Field, everyone had been mourned.

But they had also been forgotten.

Steve kept on his toes, walking with extraordinary grace, keeping his eyes on the horizon and the darkness beyond, rather than looking at the faces of the nameless dead.

“My father wrote my mom letters once, about the trench battles of the war. I… maybe I understand a little better why he drank so much,” Steve said. “He died when I was very young. But… he fought in a war like this.”

“I’m grieved to hear it,” Tony said, picking his way around a tangle of skeletal remains. “But not particularly surprised. War is a concept that we borrowed from the human world.”

“You should return it,” Steve said. “Bad return on investment.” He reached out and grabbed Tony’s elbow, steadying him over a piece of particularly unstable ground. “Careful, your majesty. This is no place to die.”

“On the contrary; it is an excellent place to die. But I have no desire to do so, today.” He waited until Steve had released his arm and then added, “Just Tony, please. Time enough for _majesty_ when we’ve returned to the Palace.”

The way was treacherous and horrifying, but they made it, finally.

And Tony stood under a black, sunless sky, for only the second time in his life.

Steve raised his arm. “That way. He hasn’t moved much in a while. A little wiggle now and then; he’s either very far away, or he’s settled in somewhere. Triangulation apparently still works over here where you’ve forgotten a lot of other laws of physics.”

“I’ll take that as a hopeful sign,” Tony said. He glanced up at the foreboding sky. “No wonder they’re all mad, here.”

It was slower going, through the Winter lands. They couldn’t let themselves be seen, and any glamour Tony attempted to raise would immediately identify him as a Summer fae. The unnerving, hard glare of the stars didn’t make things any easier, either. Tony had to keep stopping to look up, to make sure they weren’t _moving_ , spying on them.

The cold was unnerving, as well. It started out mildly uncomfortable, and then it just kept getting worse, until Tony was having to leave his mouth open, letting plumes of warmer air escape, just to keep his teeth from knocking together. He was so cold his entire body was shivering.

“Here,” Steve said, pulling Tony up against his side. The big human was so _warm_ , it was hard not to want to curl up into that. “I have a feeling that Winter’s land is going to get colder before it gets comfortable again. We might consider seeing if there’s someone to steal a coat from or something.”

“Too dangerous,” Tony protested, though his teeth were chattering. “No alarms, remember?” He looked around, trying to gauge how far they’d come. “How much farther? Can you tell?”

“Not without a map and some math,” Steve said. “He’s not moving at all now. Sleeping, maybe. Or imprisoned. How’s your heart?” Steve paused, cupping his hands around Tony’s and rubbing them briskly, bringing sensation back to numbed fingers.

Tony wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for that or not; mostly, the sensation that they reported was: _painfully cold_. “My heart is... all right,” Tony said carefully, trying to feel it across the distance. “ _His_ is cold, like ice. Colder even than all this.” He waved at their surroundings, then rubbed at the center of his chest, as if trying to rub sensation back into it the way Steve had done for his fingers.

“We’ll get him back,” Steve said. “I swear it.”

“Of course,” Tony agreed, flashing a thin smile. He did not add, _but in what condition?_

They walked, talking less. Tony continued to find the endless sky full of stars unnerving. It was either pushing down on him, or pulling away from him, and in neither case did he feel at all safe. The stars were cold, pitiless eyes. 

The ground was covered with frozen water -- snow and ice, Tony remembered from stories his mother sometimes told -- and it made walking even harder as the drifts of the cold, powdery substance got deeper. Footing became even more treacherous, because under the snow were slicks of icy patches, unseeable from the surface.

“Not far now,” Steve whispered, pointing. At first Tony couldn’t see anything, but then, like a nightmare from the mist, the castle made of ice and blackstone rose against the night sky, blotting out the stars. “I can feel him walking around. Like he’s pacing.”

“So very close then,” Tony said, spreading his hand over his chest. “The sooner the better, really.”

The ground rumbled and shuddered underneath them, the powdery snow kicking up in huge, blinding clouds. Tony stumbled, fell backward into one of the drifts and a moment later, Steve went flying, thrown skyward as the earth split apart and a beast emerged. “Man? Here? Be meat for the beast.” 

The monster, troll-like in its proportions, twice as big as Bruce, even when he was angry, was covered with thick hair, and had immense horns growing out of the side of its head. These horns were decorated with thick chains of gold and silver, holding little lanterns that dangled down and provided light, throwing shadows everywhere as it shook its massive head. Fangs curved upward from its mouth, and one huge paw-like hand clenched a stone axe.

Tony gaped at it for a fraction of a second, then darted forward, getting between it and Steve. “Not for you,” he said sternly. Sometimes, some of the less intelligent fae would respond to a tone of authority.

The beast -- a cobbly, Tony thought, trying to remember his earliest training -- sniffed at the air before lowering a face that was nearly the size of Tony’s entire body to look at him. “You claim it?”

“Yes,” Tony said. “The mortal is mine.”

Steve, who was slowly dragging himself out of the mire of snow and mud, actually shot Tony a dubious look, scowling. 

The cobbly looked back and forth between Steve and Tony, as if weighing the possible risks. It seemed to take it quite a while as Tony’s heart throbbed in his chest. Cobblys had thick hides and thicker heads. Killing it would not be easy.

“Tiny thing,” the cobbly said, measuring Tony’s height from the ground with one oversized hand. “What you need with food of that size?” 

“I don’t--” _eat meat,_ Tony swallowed before he could finish. The thing was dim, but even a cobbly would know that only Summer fae eschewed meat. “--need to explain myself to you,” he said instead, drawing around himself the mantle of authority he’d cultivated as the crown prince. “He’s mine. Go find your own dinner.”

For just a moment, the thing drew back, surprised and a flicker of fear on its ugly face, then, “You want? You fight for it. Both of you, _my dinner_.”

Tony sighed inwardly, but he hadn’t really expected a better outcome. At least he’d given Steve time to get back on his feet. Tony drew his knife -- ridiculously puny against the huge creature, and took up a defensive stance. “Come on, then.”

The creature scoffed at him, raised one hand and rocks started raining out of the sky, small, no bigger than fist-sized, but they were moving fast and they _hurt_ when they hit. A moment later and there was a loud clanging sound as Steve skated over to Tony’s side and put the shield up, protecting their heads.

“What this--”

The cobbly dropped its hand and poked a finger at Steve’s shield, then squealed, taking several clumsy leaps backward. “Burns!”

“That’s right,” Tony said, grinning toothily. “You sure you want to take us on? Easier meals, elsewhere.”

“Hungry,” the monster complained. It got to its feet, raised up, the axe practically blotting out the sky. Tony swallowed; iron might hurt it, but the beast was so big, who knew if they’d get in a killing blow. And yet, what choice did they have? 

The cold lump in Tony’s chest that was Bucky’s heart seemed to roll over, as if responding to the pounding of Tony’s own heart--

***

The Winter Soldier had been taken to a room and told to wait, that the Queen would come for him when she had need.

The room was sparse, a few drifts of snow, a crumble of ice that was shaped like a lounge. A few thick fur rugs, skinned from animals. The Winter Soldier touched one and nearly wept. Or he would have wept, if he’d remembered how. The animal had been a person once, who displeased the Queen, and was transformed into a monster. And when she died, had been skinned and displayed, as a lesson against disobedience.

The Winter Soldier couldn’t rest on _that_ , listening to the weeping of a fae that was no longer -- entirely -- alive.

There was nothing to do, nothing to see. The soldier paced for a while, measuring the room by the length of his steps. 

… _where shall I display you?_  

The soldier shook the thought away, of being cold and helpless and under someone else’s command. Of course he was under someone’s command, he was Winter’s Soldier after all.

He knelt in the center of the room, waiting.

Sometimes he couldn’t stand the silence, got back up and paced around. Sometimes he was weary, and knelt, trying to calm his aching chest.

He didn’t know how long the endless night went on. But he couldn’t sleep. He’d been told -- wait here.

A gnawing, aching hunger started in his belly and moved up, but there was nothing, and no one. Eventually it went away. 

He snapped himself to attention again, suddenly terrified that he’d slept, even by accident. He hadn’t been told to sleep, he’d been told _wait here_.

His heart was throbbing, aching, racing in his chest.

Except--

He pressed one hand to his skin, feeling the heart beating.

It wasn’t… it wasn’t his heart beating.

It was something else, something _other_. Someone… someone other.

… _It’s beautiful, and it’s terrifying, and it’s the most precious thing I’ve ever had_

The Winter Soldier got to his feet, pacing faster, feeling his blood being moved by some… other thing. Someone else…

The Winter Soldier snapped his teeth closed around a question. He wasn’t allowed to _question_. He existed to serve, he existed to carry out the Queen’s command, and that command had been _wait here._

He pressed his fingers closer to that frantic heartbeat, not to still it, but… as if to comfort it, like it was a small and terrified animal that he could soothe with a touch. _It’s all right. I’m here._

“Soldier,” someone barked. It wasn’t the Queen, but a fae male, horns growing out of his temples. “The Queen bids you, go to her.”

The Soldier nodded, and staggered to his feet. “As the Queen commands.” His voice was rough, as if he’d been screaming, but he knew he hadn’t been. The Queen hadn’t said he was allowed.

The room where the Queen sat was coated in ice, frost made up the windows. She wore a thick white coat made from deerskin.

The Winter Soldier’s fingers ached with the cold. 

“They’re coming,” the Queen told him. “They made their way through the Field of Blood and are nearly to the castle. You will meet them, when they find their way to my palace. You will tell them what you have done in my name, and you will be rewarded for your service. One of your precious memories, returned to you. And then, you will kill them.”

“Yes, your Majesty, I will comply,” the Winter Soldier said, nodding. He paused, then -- “How shall I find them?”

The Queen scoffed, and she touched him, tearing a hole in his clothes, peeling them all the way down to the flesh. Her skin was so cold, it burned. “Follow your heart. Now go.”

The Winter Soldier… turned, and walked away, the places where she touched him cold and dead and aching. He followed the sense of a heartbeat, down the tower, through the courtyard and the killing grounds, and to a narrow exit, where the lowly and unremarkable fae sometimes made their way, a goblin tunnel, a secret and silent passage. 

And there, at the entrance to the tunnel, he waited. They would come this way; there was no other path into the castle that was safe for them.

And he could feel their approach with every beat of his heart.

Time passed, and he did not wonder how much. The stars did not move in the sky, nor did the darkness give way to dawn. But eventually, they approached, and he saw them: a human, tall and broad and graceful and fair; and a fae, slender and lithe and dark. The dark one was injured already, a trickle of blood wending its way down his face to drip onto his collar.

That was bad, that was wrong, but the Winter Soldier could not remember why.

The pair of them stopped when they saw him. The human stepped forward, a round shield held before him. “Bucky?”

The words were on the Soldier’s lips before he had a moment to remember that he’d been given a specific task to speak to. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

The fae touched the human’s arm, shaking his head. “Will you tell us how you are called?” he asked, excessively polite. His eyes were warm, but sorrowful.

“Winter’s Soldier,” he answered, and his chest ached, it _ached_ , and he didn’t know why. He put his hand to the bare patch of skin, like it would stop hurting if he touched it. “I act on behalf of the Queen.” Even the winter’s court had basic courtesy. The Queen would understand.

“Do you, indeed? And what action has Winter’s Queen commanded of you?”

The ache in his chest was only growing worse.

“She commands me to meet you here, Summer’s prince, and the Ambassador to Man,” the Winter Soldier said. “Thus, you are met. For this, I will be rewarded, one of my memories, to be returned to me. And she commands that I speak of the death of the King, who was slain on her orders, by my hand.”

He shuddered all over, waiting-- his reward should come, soon. He didn’t know what his memories were, or which would return, or even if he wanted them at all. 

_... memories are very valuable. You should never admit that you don’t find them precious. They’re your... your you. Human or fae, without memories, we’re... helpless._

Helpless? He’d been made helpless? He wasn’t-- the Winter Soldier was strong, he was cunning and clever. He could kill the two before him without a thought. He was not _helpless_.

“Bucky, please,” the Ambassador pleaded. “It’s _me_. It’s _us_ ; don’t you remember Tony at all?”

“He can’t,” said the Summer fae -- _Tony_ , apparently. “She’s got his memories.”

“Then we’ll just have to get them back,” the Ambassador said, his jaw working as it settled into a stubborn clench.

There-- it came, floating and white, like mist. He reached for it, precious like diamonds, warm like summer, necessary as breath. 

… _checked the silver device that he’d drawn up for Tony to make. It was a simple thing, springs and cogs, and utterly fascinating. He looked at it. “Time to go. May I give you a gift, before we leave? If the outing is successful, you can give it back, after the party?”_

“ _I will accept your gift,” Tony said. “When shall I return it, if we are not successful?”_

“ _I leave it to your discretion,” Bucky said. “You’ll know when it’s the right time.” He stepped closer, and then even closer until he was entirely inside Tony’s personal space, hand on Tony’s shoulder, and those silver fingers came up to brush Tony’s chin. “Here, then, is my gift. For luck.”_

_And he kissed Tony, soft and slow, without rushing. His tongue flicked out and brushed over Tony’s lips, surprising a gasp out of Tony. Bucky took his advantage, licking into Tony’s mouth. Sensual and sweet and without any particular urgency, although there was an undercurrent of heat to it..._

Tony was still standing there, just out of the Winter Soldier’s reach, watching him with those sad eyes. The _same_ Tony. Waiting.

The Soldier stumbled, hand pressed against his chest, trying to keep whatever was inside him from escaping. It was _important_. “You never gave it back,” he said, and he was on one knee, looking up at the fae. “We… were successful. And we _failed_. Sunset is here, because we were successful. And you never gave it back.”

“Bucky! What happened? Are you okay?” The Ambassador surged forward, reaching for the Soldier, but the fae -- _Tony_ \-- pulled him back. “Let go, he’s-- Something’s wrong, we have to help!”

Tony shook his head. “I’m waiting for the right time,” he told the Soldier gently. He glanced past the Soldier, toward the passageway into the castle. “Have you discharged your duty?”

The Winter Soldier shook his head. “I told you of the King’s death. At my hand. It is my duty… it is my duty…” He couldn’t-- he couldn’t… “The Queen demands it… your deaths. At my hand.”

How could he kill someone who had a debt to him, before it was repaid? He was _owed_. Killing Tony would mean the balance was always outstanding. He shook his head. His own accounts were not important, only the Queen’s commands.

“Yeah, and there it is,” the Ambassador said, sighing. “We don’t want to fight you, Bucky.”

Tony cocked his head, studying the Winter Soldier and tapping his fingers lightly against his chest. “Did she say _when_ you had to kill us?” he asked. “Because if not, you could wait a little bit. Help us get what we came for. And then you can kill us.”

“ _Tony!_ ” the Ambassador protested.

“Don’t fight, then,” the Winter Soldier advised. “You’re my mission.” He licked at his lip. “You owe me. I am owed.” He took a step back and drew the blade that he’d used to kill the king. “What’s _your_ mission?”

“You,” Tony said. “But not your death. Your memories.”

“It won’t help you,” the Winter Soldier said, knowing that it was true. But the fae couldn’t lie. Their mission, the memories. “I can show you, and then, I will kill you.” He searched Tony’s face, calm, almost placid, giving lie to the racing heart beneath his skin. The Soldier ignored the Ambassador, his expression not even worth the trouble of trying to hide. “This way.”

Tony followed, the Ambassador hard on his heels, bending to hiss something urgently into Tony’s ear. “Tony, what the hell are you doing?!”

“It’s the only chance I can see,” Tony answered. “We can’t fight all of the Winterlands, Steve.”

“You won’t,” the Winter Soldier told them, not bothering to hide the fact that he was listening. “Only me.”

He knew the way to the memories, as if they were true north and he was just a needle floating in a cup of water. They called to him with the siren song. He knew it. And he knew it wouldn’t matter. He knew enough to guess that the Queen would let them, she would let him lead them there, let them steal and plunder those sacred gifts.

And then, let the Winter Soldier rip his own heart out, knowing what he had to do.

 


	17. The Heart of Winter

Tony wondered if the Winter Castle was always so sparsely populated, or if the Queen had ordered their path cleared, for some reason. Either way, he didn’t like it.

Bucky -- no, the Winter Soldier -- moved through the corridors as if he’d spent his whole life in these icy corridors. Tony and Steve followed, Steve taking long strides to keep up, and Tony practically scurrying on his shorter legs.

He was still a little surprised that the Winter Soldier had agreed so readily to take them to the memories, though he wasn’t going to protest it. If nothing else, it gave him a little more time to work out what to do next. It was just barely possible that if they stole enough of Bucky’s memories back, it would break the Queen’s hold on him. They’d have to fight their way out again, if that happened, but it was a risk Tony was willing to take.

He didn’t think it was terribly likely, though. Bucky’s heart in his chest was cold and icy, not simply empty, which meant the Queen had some other hold on Bucky in addition to the memories.

It was possible that restoring Bucky’s memories to him would be the cruelest thing to do, to make him obey the Queen’s order to kill Tony and Steve while knowing that he’d loved them.

But if they could get Bucky’s memories back, then maybe Tony would be able to find out what the Queen’s hold was, and break it.

One thing at a time, he told himself. One thing at a time.

But it was still eerie, the way the Castle halls echoed with emptiness.

“The hall of memories,” the Winter Soldier intoned, as if he was announcing it. Long, pale corridors, lined with icy shelves, stretched as far as the eye could see. Cold crystal cubes held the precious memories, hundreds, thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands. Neat and arranged and utterly chilling. The Halls were filled with silence, or sounds just beyond what anyone could hear.

“How the hell do you expect to find anything, in here?” Steve wondered, staring. “This place is worse’n a bank vault.” Whatever that was.

Tony closed his eyes and _felt_ for them, the memories that had him in them. They had a faint flavor, like the sparkle of cider in the air in the instant before it washed over the tongue. He let that feeling pull him forward, down the long rows. Neatly-arranged cubes, jagged shards, shapes that threatened madness if they were looked at too long. When he stopped, though, it was in front of a shelf that was covered with frost-rimed glass, Bucky’s face barely recognizable in the glimpses Tony could see through the ice. One jar stood silent and dark, empty. The rest glowed with life.

_Bucky’s_ life.

“So, now what?” Steve wondered, shivering in the hall’s chilly air, smoke pluming out of his mouth. 

“Now?” and that was a new voice, silky smooth and strangely familiar. “Now, you decide, brother. Let him kill you, unwounded by his memories, or release the memories, and die anyway.”

The person who stepped into the hall from a blackness so deep that Tony couldn’t even compare it to the night sky they’d left behind, looked-- like a reflection of himself. A reflection with brilliant blue eyes instead of brown, and his smile was arrogant and twisted, rather than self-deprecating. “Prince Anthony. Brother. Welcome to the Winter Palace.”

“Sir,” the Winter Soldier said, just behind Tony, and sank gracefully to his knees, forehead to the cold floor.

Tony glanced back at Bucky, then stared at his double. “Who... who are you? _What_ are you?” A doppleganger wouldn’t have gotten the eyes wrong -- but no other creature Tony knew of would be able to mimic his appearance so perfectly.

“A fae, brother,” the man said. “Just. Like. You. Well, more than you, really. And less. Father’s face stamped us both very well. There’s a little of your mother in you. A softness, right around the mouth, I think. Weakness, in your blood. And he chose _you_. You. A halfling prince.” 

Tony shook his head. “I never had a brother.” But the fae couldn’t lie, not even the Winter fae.

“No, you didn’t, because he _cast me out_ \--” the other fae raged, and then his face smoothed out again, a careless smile playing around his lips. “Howard took one look at me and was horrified by what he’d done. Decided you were a better match-- gave the circlet to _you_ , when I should have worn it.”

A fae brother? Tony couldn’t imagine Howard choosing him over a full-blooded heir. Why... Tony looked at the fae, and _looked_ , and saw what Howard must have seen immediately: Like as he was to Tony on the outside, the fae was heartless.

“ _You can’t beget an heir without your heart, boy,”_ Howard said in Tony’s memory. “ _Your_ whole _heart.”_ And the look of anguish on his face when he’d said it... Had he learned that lesson the hard way?

“You can’t rule without a heart,” Tony said.

“ _I don’t need one_ ,” the fae screamed, losing control of that perfect facade. “I was worthy, and he threw me away for some half-human mongrel. Prince Anthony. Or, should I say, now, your majesty, King Anthony?” He dropped a mocking bow. “Oh, where are my manners, of course, you wish me to make myself known to you. You may call me Gregory.”

Steve, next to him, flinched. “Gregory. _The nightmares_.”

“Gregory,” Tony repeated, a sick ache clenching his stomach. “This was all you? _You_ kidnapped Bucky, stole his memories. Killed my father. For what, Gregory? Did you think the Summerlands would rise up to embrace you as their king?”

“Killed your-- kill _your_ father?” Gregory queried. “No, no, Anthony, I did not kill your father. I killed the man who banished me to the Winterlands, who took a child to the borders, told it to _run, run boy_ , with archers behind him to make sure he didn’t try to steal back to summerlands. I killed the fae who ruined my life. Who didn’t have the _will_ to dirty his hands with my blood. That’s who I killed, _brother_.”

“Howard was imperfect,” Tony said through gritted teeth, “impossible to please and indifferent at best, but he was still _my father_ , and _you killed him_.” His heart was racing, pounding with anger and fear and grief and more things he could not name. “You may have started a war. For _revenge?_ To soothe your wounded pride?”

“Well, it doesn’t _have_ to end in war,” Greg said, thoughtfully. “After all, we have everything I need right here, don’t we? An exchange… I give you what you want, you give me what I want.” He snapped his fingers and the Winter Soldier stood, came to stand just behind Gregory, and to the left before returning to his kneeling, subservient position.

“I give you the circlet, and you return Bucky to me?” Tony asked. “I notice you’re not offering to retract the order he’s under to kill me and the Ambassador. It seems an uneven trade, at best.”

“Not at all, brother,” Gregory said. “What do I want with the Summerlands, now? My debt to the Queen is repaid. What should we do, brother, but unite the lands? Winter and Summer, _together._ Your human has been imbued with power, the champion of all of Winter. Grant the Ambassador full status, as Summer’s soldier. I will give you back your friend, that the Queen stole. You will help me depose the Queen, and I will rule winter. Think of the possibilities, with a united people. What could we not accomplish, brother? Together.” 

He extended one hand, nicked and scarred, similar to Tony’s, with long, graceful fingers. Paler than Tony's, but that seemed logical, considering. “What say you?”

Tony had to admit, he’d entirely forgotten that he had the power, now, to create a Summer’s Soldier. Not that he had any intention of accepting Gregory’s twisted deal. But he could let Gregory think he had. He turned to Steve. “Ambassador?”

“You’re not seriously thinking--” Steve started.

Tony met Steve’s gaze steadily, willing him to understand. “I name you the Soldier of Summer. Serve well.” The power that flowed through him, shaped by his intent, was scorching, enough to make him stagger and have to clamp his teeth tightly around a shout of pain.

It didn’t seem to hurt Steve, at least. The human straightened, already-strong limbs practically glowing with Summer’s power. He lifted his shield, and it shone, too, like metal red-hot from the forge.

“Wow,” Steve said, looking down at his hands as if something had changed. “Wow, Tony… what did you do--” 

“He is lovely, isn’t he?” But Gregory wasn’t looking at Steve, he was looking at the Winter’s Soldier. “So evenly matched, now. And between us, we can depose Frost. She’ll never even have time to scream. Do we have an accord?” He was stroking his fingers through the Winter’s Soldier’s hair, tugging his head back, baring Bucky’s throat. “Or shall we see who is stronger, Winter or Summer?”  

Steve tipped his head from side to side, working out the kinks. He shrugged both shoulders and brought the shield up. “I don’t like bullies,” he said. “I don’t care where they’re from.”

Tony lifted his gaze to Gregory’s and bared his teeth in something like a smile. “You think your unwilling puppet will be able to strike down my righteous soldier?” he asked. “Give him back to me now, _brother_ , and I’ll leave you here with your conspirators and allies.”

“You’re weak,” Gregory taunted him. “You’re weak and a fool. It’s what comes of having a heart. Sentimental. Utterly unable to do what is _necessary_.”

“I got this, Tony,” Steve said. He took a step forward, guarding Tony. Tensed to spring, coiled and waiting. “Say the word, your majesty.”

“I think you’ll be surprised by what becomes necessary, when you’ve got a heart,” Tony said. “Steve, go.” Tony drew the knife he’d brought and waited to see what Gregory would do.

“In the name of Winter, kill them, kill them both,” Gregory snarled, and his Soldier was up, running, without hesitation, without concern. The metal arm snapped back, and then--

Steve raised his shield, and it was as if an unstoppable force met the immovable object. The sound created by magic against iron practically knocked everyone down, and the whole castle jolted like it was caught up in an earthquake.

Tony swayed, and only just managed to keep his feet. The memories shuddered on their shelves, and several tipped off to land on the floor. One of them smashed, the memory within floating away like a wisp of steam. “There’s still time to call him off,” Tony said, lifting his blade defensively. “It doesn’t have to happen like this.”

“Either way, brother, you lose,” Gregory said. “You’ll have to kill him to defeat me. I know what he means to you. Gave his name, to stop you from suffering. Or, what he thought was you. So easy to deceive… He’s mine, and you can’t have him back. Not now. So what will it be, your life, or his?”

Gregory drew a crystal knife, the end dripping black poison as it came out of the sheath. He barely glanced at the soldiers, all his hated and rage directed at Tony. Or Howard, by way of Tony. It didn’t matter, in the end.

“I chose neither,” Tony said. He summoned a shield of glamour, though he already knew it wouldn’t last, not against a full-blood Winter fae at the heart of Winter’s palace. But it turned Gregory’s first attack, and that was enough for now. Tony thrust his knife toward Gregory in return. If the steel could just draw blood...

Gregory drew ice out of nothingness, black and rotten, to block Tony’s blade, showering Tony’s skin with freezing shards as it smashed. 

Beyond them, Steve was wrestling with the Winter Soldier, jabs and punches traded, and all the while, Steve was talking. “Come on, pal, don’t make me do this--”

The Winter Soldier was calm, his demeanor that of any automaton, expressionless. Like he had no idea who Steve was, didn’t know anything about him. Didn’t care that he was about to kill anyone, much less his best friend for his entire life. 

Gregory was fast, his blade slipping easily from one hand to the other, attacking over, around, Tony’s shield until it collapsed into nothingness and drops of dew. Gregory darted in, couldn’t twist quite fast enough to cut, but still managed a glancing blow across Tony’s face, rocking his head back.

Tony stumbled back until he collided with a shelf, knocking more memories out of place. He didn’t dare lose, couldn’t leave his people to this monster. He drew on the royal mantle, the power that only the Summer King could touch, letting it fill him, and released it in a blast of heat toward Gregory’s snarling face.

The ice exploded, scalding steam and heated wind. Gregory screamed, but Tony couldn’t tell if he was angry or hurt, and vanished into a thick bank of fog, swirling it up with one hand. Almost as clear as if they were standing right next to him, Tony could hear Steve speaking, urgently. “You’ve known me your whole life.”

“I don’t!” the Winter Soldier was sobbing. “I don’t know you, I don’t--”

Tony pulled at the air, creating a wind to part the fog. “Give it up, Gregory!”

“You know I won’t,” Gregory said, and he flitted in, the tip of his crystal blade cutting a jagged, painful line up Tony’s arm before he danced out of range again. “I owe you, a cut like that, for every day I lived here. Outcast, unwanted. A tool to be used, until I learned how to fight back. You took everything from me-- everything that was yours should have been mine. And I’m _taking it back_.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Tony said. “You can hurt me, imprison me, even kill me -- but you will never have what is mine.” His arm burned from the poison as much as the cut. Tony tested his grip and danced back out of the way of another violent slash. “Not my father, not my throne, and not my love.”

The ground shuddered again, and Steve came flying backward through the mist, having caught a bad kick to the chest. He smashed into one of the shelves, setting more memories free as their containers broke against the floor. 

The Winter Soldier charged after him, racing straight through that cloud of precious thoughts and feelings, hands linked and raised for a blow.

That never fell. The Winter Soldier stood there, in the cloud of memories, held by them, as, like moths to a flame, they were drawn to someone who was utterly empty. 

“I know him,” and that voice was soft, urgent, but also puzzled. “But I know him.”

“Bucky!” Tony called. “Come back to us!”

Gregory attacked again, a flurry of slashing blade and rage, driving Tony backward across the floor, slippery ice that seemed to move under Tony’s feet. “You know who your master is,” Gregory said. 

The Winter Soldier wasn’t moving, just stood there, almost lost in those memories, then, Steve smashed him with the shield, knocking the soldier down, and away, sliding on the ice toward the far end of the room. He hit another shelf and the whole thing came down, burying him in ice and stone.

“Even with his _name_ , you can’t hold him,” Tony mocked. That had to be it, the icy cold clutch around Bucky’s heart. Tony only barely held off Gregory’s onslaught, mostly by scrambling out of the way. He groped in his pocket for his lump of iron; if he could throw it hard enough, it might unravel Gregory’s glamours, even hurt him.

“Shit,” Steve said, and he was prying at a section of stone that held the Winter Soldier pinned down and helpless. “I got you, move-- move, now.” And Steve’s arms strained, impossible for a human to lift that much weight, and yet, Steve was doing it--

The Winter Soldier scrambled out from under the rock, holding his flesh arm cradled close to his chest, obviously broken. His eyes were wide, terrified. “Don’t you--”

He leaped at Steve, knife going to Steve’s throat while Steve’s guard was down. They disappeared into the mist and rubble, shaking the castle’s foundations again. Icy water was seeping up through the floor, so cold it burned.

“I’ll hold him long enough,” Gregory said, smirking. “Come on, brother, is that all you’ve got? A bad idea and a witty one liner?”

“It could be the title of my chapter in _The History_ ,” Tony said. He feinted with his knife and then threw the iron lump as hard as he could, pulling on just a whisper of glamour to help it fly true, right into Gregory’s forehead.

His brother shrieked, clapped a hand over the spot. “You dare,” he screamed, blood dripping down his face.

In the stunned silence that followed, Tony saw Steve, arm held tight over the Winter Soldier’s throat, the silver arm caught and yanked out, the broken arm limp and useless. “I know your name,” Steve told him, urgently. “Come on, Buck-- your name, it’s Ja--”

“No, no, no!” Gregory screamed like a child throwing a tantrum, and he lashed out at both soldiers with a torrent of icy wind and driving snow. The castle jostled and shook again, an eerie cracking sound splitting the air, and then in fact, driving through the wall of the castle.

Breathless, deathly cold settled over the air, and--

The Winter Queen stepped out of a tiny bit of reflecting melted water, holding her hand up commandingly. “What are you _idiots_ doing to my castle?” she demanded, and with the barest twitch of her finger, Gregory was encased in ice, skin turning pale and blue and limned with frost.

Tony stood straight, lifting his chin, though he let his hands hang loose by his side, poisoned blood dripping onto the icy floor, each drop accompanied by a tiny swirl of steam. “Your Majesty,” he acknowledged. “I’ve come to collect what is mine.” 

She gave Tony a raking glance, then nodded her head. “Your Majesty. I’d welcome you to the Winter Palace, but I see you’re making yourself quite at home.”

Tony accepted that with a wry twist of his mouth. “I would be happy to take my mortals and go, so that you can welcome me back another time,” he suggested.

The Queen tilted her head slowly to one side. “Would you? Accept an invitation at a later time?”

“Your Majesty--” Gregory had fought himself free of her block of ice, still dripping and shivering, but protesting.

“Gregory… Stark. That was a warning. Interrupt me again, and I will freeze your blood in your veins.” The Queen went from almost charming to deadly cold in a moment, most of Tony’s brother’s name in the air for just anyone to hear it, to use it. A warning, indeed. “Soldier, report.”

Bucky -- and by the anguished expression on his face, it was _Bucky_ , or at least, some of him -- pushed himself out from under the rubble, legs working, practically crawling. He was soaked with freezing water, bleeding from a dozen or more injuries. Towing Steve along behind him, who was pale, unmoving. “Majesty.”

“Bucky,” Tony breathed, and he bolted forward to gather up Steve, who was -- Tony gasped in relief -- merely unconscious, not dead. He folded to the icy floor and looked up at Bucky, all but holding his breath.

“Tony,” Bucky said, “Tony, I’m _sorry_.”

“Sweetheart, no. No, it wasn’t... None of this was your fault.”

“Your Majesty,” the Queen said. “I find myself in the very awkward position of having been gravely mistaken in my choice of advisors. Winter will accept blame in this matter, in exchange for your grace and leniency. A matter of reparations?” 

“You will not!” Gregory burst out, and Tony wished he’d had time to close his eyes before the Winter Queen carried out her threat.

His brother died, painfully, his body practically exploding from the inside as the ice in his veins expanded, cracked, broke through his skin.

“Excuse me, your Majesty,” she said, turning back to Tony as if nothing had happened. “An internal matter, now resolved. You understand.”

Tony fought down a surge of nausea and carefully pulled his eyes away from Gregory’s body. “Of course,” he said, because what else could he do? Effectively declare war over a fae who’d been trying to kill Tony only a handful of moments earlier? Reparations, she’d said, and while there was nothing Tony actually wanted but to go home -- with Bucky and Steve safely in his charge -- that would be similarly catastrophic, politically. “Summer is willing to discuss reparations,” he said, pulling on his memories of Howard at the King’s most stuffy and formal. “In seven days’ time, in the Borderlands, perhaps?”

“Your Majesty is very kind,” the Queen said, and then gestured at Tony’s lump of iron laying in a half-melted puddle. “If you will take that-- thing. With you, I will do what I can to repair Winter’s Soldier.”

For an instant, Tony was tempted to tell her to let it lie, as a reminder to all of Winter what lay in store for those who sought quarrel with the Summer. But that was no way to begin a reign, and after all, he didn’t want to give the Queen any excuse to be less than thorough in her care of Bucky. He picked up the iron and returned it to his pocket, and sheathed the knife at his hip.

“Come here, soldier,” she said, very softly, becoming. “Kneel.”

Bucky practically crawled to her, hurting and weeping. A trail of blood behind him, freezing to the icy floor. 

“You did well,” she told him, cradling his face with her hands. “Better than I expected. You brought the Summer’s Soldier to his knees, and I thank you for the gift of it. But we lost, my childe. We lost. Reach down, with your mind, and see the damage done to the Heart of Winter, as it was in the care of the Stark childe. If the castle fell… well. I had to do something, didn’t I?” She nuzzled at Bucky’s face, her words nothing but the truth, and each one accompanied by a breath that swirled around him, leaving crystals of snow on his skin, ice in his hair. “Return, return, return.”

She pulled, and the fog and mist that made up the Hall of Memories and its precious contents, swirled until they were all back, neatly, in their little crystal cubes. She plucked one from the wall with a thought. “Here, childe of winter. Here are your memories, returned, as promised.”

Tony was unable to take his eyes off Bucky’s face as the pallor of Winter faded from it. He pressed his hand to his chest to feel that icy hold on him melt away, and drew what felt like the first true breath he’d taken since Bucky was first stolen away from him.

Finally, the Winter Queen stood up, shook out her gown. “He is healed and whole, if somewhat worse for wear. The Mantle, of course… there is nothing that can be done to change that. He will, until he draws his last breath, be the Winter Soldier. Power cannot be granted, and then simply taken back.” She said this, as if it was something Tony didn’t know. But the way she looked at the remains of Gregory, maybe she was telling it to a dead man. Power… power didn’t work that way.

Bucky hesitated, then got up, the cuts still red and raw, but closed, his right arm obviously still aching, but no longer bent at that unnatural angle. “Tony,” he managed to gasp and went to him, hand reaching, but he stopped short, not touching, as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed, or wanted.

Which was absurd, because Bucky still held Tony’s heart. Tony caught Bucky’s hand and pulled, gently, until Bucky came closer, close enough for Tony to press that hand against his chest, to feel the doubled heartbeat there. “It’s all right now,” he said. “It’s going to be all right.”

“Very well, then,” the Queen said, and she twisted her hand to open a Shortcut. “To the Western Front, if you will take it. And in seven days, we will meet in the Borderlands to discuss the terms of our Accords.”

Tony nodded, as regally as he could. He let go of Bucky to gather up Steve. “You first,” he told Bucky.

Bucky took a deep breath and stepped through the Shortcut.

Tony nodded again to the Queen, taking his leave, and followed.

 


	18. Not Looking Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor warning for brief thoughts/discussion of suicide.

“You can’t be serious,” Steve said, staring at the expanse of iron fields that made up the border. “You’re really going to meet here, in a week’s time, and what, accept a few sacks of gold in exchange for what she did?”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He didn’t look at the border. He didn’t look at Tony. There wasn’t, it seemed, a safe place for him to look at all. A little worse for wear, the Queen had said, and that was only the truth if you were squinting through someone else’s glasses. He was utterly ruined.

“And concessions,” Tony said. He sounded tired. “Promises and oaths that will, hopefully, help prevent this from happening again. She... she’s cold, and it’s entirely likely that Summer and Winter will go to war again someday, but I’d like to put it off as long as I can.”

“I can feel--” Bucky said, and then bit his lip. He shouldn’t say anything, not really. He’d already said the only important thing; that he was sorry, he hadn’t meant it, hadn’t wanted any of it. He’d been used, but the fae would see only one thing. He’d allowed himself to be tricked.

He wished he could cry. It might have been easier to bear if he could have done that much. But he rather thought that once he started sobbing, he wouldn’t be able to stop screaming.

“What can you feel?” Tony asked, in that too-gentle, too-careful tone he’d been using since they’d stepped through the Winter Queen’s shortcut and found themselves back in the Borderlands. He reached out, hesitated short of touching Bucky’s arm, and dropped his hand again.

“Her,” Bucky said, shortly. “Winter.” He was cold. Like they’d never left, even though Bucky was aware the ambient air was warmer all around them. It should have been like the first day of spring, hopeful and sweet, warm, damp earth just waiting for living things to blossom. It wasn’t. More like a walk through sodden, dead leaves, looking at the sky as it got dark in the middle of the afternoon. He didn’t shiver, though. He didn’t feel the cold. He was the cold.

“I’m... I’m _sorry_ ,” Tony said, quiet and serious. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“You frightened her,” Bucky said, and he wasn’t sure if he was trying to be encouraging. “She wasn’t expecting it. For you to be so strong.”

Tony hummed thoughtfully. “We -- the Fae -- we scorn human blood, even while we scramble to pattern our lives after mortal ones. I don’t think any of us understand how strong a human can be. Even a half-human, like me.” Tony’s hands moved, just barely in the edge of Bucky’s vision, turning his lump of iron over and over, rubbing at the smooth curves.

Despite both Bucky’s and Steve’s injuries, they didn’t waste any time resting before setting out across the border. Once Steve was roused enough to be left on his own two feet, they moved. Bucky didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He played the battle over and over in his head, wincing every time he recalled striking Steve, but almost relishing the pain of his own injuries. And in each replay, he found that moment, right before the Queen appeared, when he knew she was coming, she was coming--

The cold, dark heart of Winter, hidden deep beneath the castle, thought well protected, thought unassailable. It had been _vulnerable_ and the Queen had put herself in peril in order to safeguard it. If Summer’s light touched it… 

“You could have beaten her,” he said. “She was scared that you would. No trinkets, no concessions, no promises will ever be too much for her to feel safe again.”

Bucky could sympathize with the Queen, to a degree. He, too, knew what it felt like, to be unsafe. But maybe he was a little better off than the Queen, who’d never known fear before now. Mortals were afraid, every day, all day long, for most of their lives. Little fears, or big ones. Worries or trivial concerns. It got so that fear was like a worn blanket that you wrapped yourself up in and went about your day.

“Yes, probably,” Tony said. “I could have brought the Winter Palace down around us, razed the ground. But that wasn’t what I was there for.”

They reached the edge of the Border. 

Bucky still didn’t look back; he didn’t need to. But he did hesitate. He was one of the Winter Court now. 

It had been his hand that killed the King.

He could go forward, bring part of Winter’s Cold back to the Summer Palace. Everyone would know, there would never be any hiding it, not here. The fae would look at him, and they would know. Tony was King now, but would it matter? 

He could go forward, and face the consequences of his stupidity.

Or he could go back.

He was part of the Queen’s court, and she would welcome him as an ally, if he chose to put himself at her side.

He could cut out his own heart and never look back.

“Tony?”

“Yes?” Tony stopped, turned to face him. “What is it, Bucky?”

He still couldn’t weep, although his eyes stung and his chest ached. “Those things-- Tony, I don’t know if I’m worth all this.”

“Buck,” Steve said. “That wasn’t you, you didn’t have a choice.”

Bucky looked down at his hands. “But I still did them.”

“Yes,” Tony said. “You did.” Bucky could practically feel the weight of his gaze. “I think you’re worth... everything. But you... What do you want?” He would give Bucky anything in his power to give, it was clear. Gold. Magic. Even, if Bucky asked it, freedom.

And for a long moment, all Bucky wanted to do was _go home_. He wanted to lay in a bed with _actual_ sheets, he wanted to eat something with cheese all over it. He wanted to sit on a bench in the park in the _sunlight_. 

The worst part, Bucky thought, of having all his choices stolen, was now that he had them back, he wasn’t sure what to do with them. The act of making a decision seemed so far beyond him, he didn’t know how to start.

He understood the Queen’s fear.

Because he was afraid.

He was afraid of the other fae, he was afraid of the consequences of what he’d done, he was afraid of being forgiven, and having Tony pretend nothing had ever happened. Every road looked equally bad.

“I suppose I oughta decide if I want… if my intentions… are to survive this,” Bucky said, slowly. Tony’s expression went very still and neutral, giving nothing away, and at the same time, giving everything away. He would allow it, Bucky knew that. Tony wouldn’t stop him, or try to prevent it, no matter that it was the same as signing Tony’s own death warrant. 

And Bucky supposed he was grateful for that.

“Buck, no, come on, you can’t give up _now_ ,” Steve protested.

“Of everyone in all the realms,” Tony said, “Bucky deserves the chance to lie down and rest, if that’s what he wants most.” His fingers tapped restlessly over his chest, belying his calm, certain voice. _Tap-tap-tap-tap_ and Bucky could almost swear he felt that rhythm echoing in his own sternum. 

Bucky took a long, still moment, and when Steve looked like he might say something else, Tony silenced him with a wave of his hand. Another thing, for which Bucky was grateful. He didn’t want to argue about it, he wanted to _decide_. 

“I suppose if I gotta think ‘er over,” Bucky said at last, “then I’m lookin’ for a reason to stay.” His hand went up, where he could feel Tony’s heart, just under his breastbone, thrumming along like a hummingbird. It took every bit of strength Bucky had left to raise his chin and look Tony full in the face. “Can-- will you… what happened will change _us_ , because it has to. But will you, can you, in your heart, forgive it?”

Tony took a moment to look at Bucky, frowning in thought, and no matter what the outcome, Bucky had to be grateful that he wasn’t simply brushing Bucky’s concern aside. “I... There are things that I can’t forgive,” he said. “I can never forgive Gregory for his treachery, for using your love against you, for using _you_ as the would-be instrument of my doom. Sunset’s betrayal, made with her eyes wide open and spite in her throat, that will earn her my scorn and her banishment. You... were guilty of gullibility. Once they had your name, there was very little they could not make you do.” He shook his head, those warm eyes sorrowful. “I’ve felt that pull. I know its power. So if I can forgive your one mistake, then I must, certainly, forgive its consequences, no matter how grave. And that error was made in fear, and in love. How could I _not_ forgive it?”

“I… I thought it was _you_ ,” Bucky said, as if he could ever have reason enough for it. “I thought they--” He shook it away, unwilling to relive that particular moment, when every scream felt like his bones being twisted. “To make someone believe a lie, it’s considered somewhat of an art form.” He gave Tony a smile, or tried, but it came out bitter and broken. “I’ll try to be worthy.”

“Never doubt it,” Tony said. He reached out again, and this time didn’t hesitate, curling his hands around Bucky’s face, cupping Bucky’s jaw, those long, slender fingers caressing the nape of Bucky’s neck. “I love you.”

Bucky let that pass through him, a soft, warm wind, and he took the last few steps across the border to stand, once again, in Summer lands. “I love you, too, Tony.”

“You’re both as daft as you can be, if you think I’d let you do something as stupid as that, Buck,” Steve said. 

Something twitched at Bucky’s lips and when he opened his mouth, he discovered it was a laugh. Almost soundless, more like a huff of air than anything else, but truly, he felt better after it passed. “Punk,” he accused, shoving Steve mock-playfully. “Come on, let’s  _go home_.”

And he didn’t look back. He didn’t have to.

*** 

As soon as they’d crossed back into the Summerlands, Tony opened a Shortcut to the Palace. That was going to come in handy, he thought idly. He’d never quite had the knack for Shortcuts before, but with the additional power of Summer behind them, they were easy. “I left Rhodey and Pepper to hold things steady,” he said as they stepped through. “So I expect--”

Pandemonium was not what he had expected, but it’s what they found. “What-- _Rhodey!_ ”

Tony found himself surrounded by pushy, panicky fae, each demanding his attention, asking about everything from his father’s murder (true) to the fact that several lakes in the Summerlands apparently iced over that morning (unverified) to the fact that Tony had abdicated to Pepper (not true, but an interesting idea) and all the way down to the concern that Summer’s Heart was vulnerable (false).

There were so many, all pushing and shoving and talking at once, that Tony wondered if his reign would last all of two days, crushed underfoot by fae nobles.

With a sundering _boom_ , Bucky smashed his silver arm into Steve’s shield, drawing everyone’s attention to the two Soldiers, and the fact that there was rather a lot of iron present. Steve and Bucky took up defensive positions around Tony, keeping the fae away from him. “Back off,” Bucky snarled.

Steve cast a rather amused look at his counterpart. “The King will be happy to address your concerns, if you could clear the route to the throne room and send for Lady Pepper and Colonel Rhodes?”

“I will?” Tony muttered, but only loud enough for Steve and Bucky to hear him. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember how his father had held stood, had projected supreme confidence, and then straightened. “The throne room,” he repeated, pointing, and a cluster of sprites flew in that direction, leaving a trail of sparkling dust to light the way.

He strode forward, making a path through the panicked fae simply by refusing to acknowledge that there might _not_ be space for him where he wanted to go. That served well enough to get them into the throne room, but Tony actually balked at the foot of the throne itself. The last time he’d seen it, his father had sat there. How could he even hope to take that place?

“Your Majesty,” Steve said, seeming to recognize the problem, and he offered Tony a hand, literally putting him on the throne. The way Bucky couldn’t quite seem to look at either of them gave evidence that he was remembering that he, also, had quite literally put Tony on the throne.

Of course, having given orders to fetch Pepper and Rhodes, Tony was now obligated to wait there until they put in an appearance. Fortunately, they were not only his advisors, but his friends, and it wasn’t long before they made their way to the room. Rhodey slammed the doors behind him and used his prodigious strength to bar them. “That should keep the rabble out for a bit,” he said, then turned in Tony’s direction, looking shocked. “Damn, I missed some rabble. Well, I ain’t opening it again just yet, so I guess you have to stay.”

Rhodey’s cheerful irreverence all broke Tony’s composure. He flung himself off of the throne and into his friend’s arm. “Rhodey,” he gasped. “Thank you.”

Pepper was calm and practical. She carried a basket full of glowing crystal orbs. “I made some of the lesser nobles stand with me as Witness, so I have copies of all the current Petitions to the Throne. I thought it would be easier if you could just have those memories. Forgive me if it was presumptuous, but with the clear and present danger of a shortcut to Winter in Sunset’s home, and probable outcomes, those Witnesses were paid from materials and items found within. The building as a whole has been reabsorbed by royal fiat. I might need you to make a statement about that, officially. I acted in your name.”

Tony stared at her in awe and terror. “You’re amazing,” he told her. He looked at Rhodey. “She’s amazing.” He unwound himself from Rhodey and approached Pepper, pulling one of her hands free to kiss her palm. “You’re a marvel and a wonder. Yes, of course, whatever you’ve done, I’m sure it’s more than fine.” He took a breath and glanced between them. “We’re meeting the Winter Queen, at the Border, in seven days.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever been given a start date for a war, Tones,” Rhodey said. “Usually fighting just… breaks out after a lot of tension.”

“This isn’t a war,” Tony said. “It’s a negotiation of concessions. Hers,” he added quickly, when Pepper’s eyes rounded. “She’d taken in... Did either of you know that my father sired another child? A full fae?”

“No,” Pepper said in shock, shaking her head, the bun of her hair slipping the knot to hang in little strands in her face. 

Rhodey closed his eyes for a long moment. “Yeah.”

Tony stared at him. “You... you did?” He glanced around the room, not quite certain he’d heard that correctly. “You _knew_ about Gregory?”

“ _Suspected_ ,” Rhodey corrected. “I didn’t know how he was called, or what, exactly, happened. But the King took two men and a very small bundle to the Border. When they came back, those men-- well, they were never quite the same. Less than a week later, Howard made the silver circlet for you. It was a logical conclusion. I thought the child… if it was a child. Didn’t survive.” 

Tony shook his head. “He probably wasn’t meant to. Howard created a child while my mother still held his heart. Gregory was born a monster, no heart at all. He was probably meant to die, but he joined the Winter Court. Has been plotting against Howard -- and me -- for all this time. He’s dead now, but the Queen _owes_.”

Pepper nodded. “We’ll need to sit down and discuss all of her offenses. If we let so much as a single slight pass, we’re opening ourselves to showing weakness.”

“And then, there’s that--” Rhodey said, looking over Tony’s shoulder at the two Soldiers. Bucky had slumped to the floor near the smaller throne, that had once been Tony’s chair as Prince, and Steve was speaking to him, urgently, softly. “ _That_ is a mess waiting to happen, Tones.”

“I know,” Tony said, half-pleading. “I know, it’s... I don’t know what we’re going to do, but I can’t... Just... Give us a few days. I’ll figure something out, honeybee, you know I will.”

“Not what you had in mind, your first day as King,” Rhodey said, patting him on the arm, sympathetically. “But I’ve served the throne my whole life. I ain’t about to stop now.”

“You’re my rock, Rhodey,” Tony said, and he meant it. “You too, Pep. There’s no way I could do any of this without you.” He closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. “It’s been a long, long day. Is there anything that absolutely needs my attention right now, or can I go home and fall on my face for a while?”

Pepper’s mouth wobbled, and then, very gently, she said, “Tony, you _are_ home. I took the liberty of moving your things, and yours as well, Ambassador. The King’s chambers are yours.”

“But if you need permission from someone in order to sleep,” Rhodey said, “I’ll guard the door for you. Nothing is so urgent that can’t wait. We need you operating on full. At least for a while.”

Tony swallowed back a protest. He’d wanted _his_ house, the bed he knew with its canopy, the wardrobe, the living rug that knew just how to cushion his feet. And it probably wasn’t doing Bucky any favors by keeping him here in the Palace, either. But Pepper had done what she thought best, had been trying to make things easier on him, and he couldn’t fault her for that. “Right,” he said, slowly. “Right. I’ll just...” He turned back to the two Soldiers and offered his hand to Bucky. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m ready for some rest.”

Bucky nodded, slowly. 

“I’ll show you to the Ambassador’s chambers,” Pepper offered to Steve. “And I’ll have food sent up for everyone. Will there be anything else, your Majesty?”

“That will be all, my lady,” Tony said, smiling faintly. He patted Steve on the arm. “I’ll see you later.”

Tony’s things were all neatly in place; gone were all of Howard’s decadent luxuries that Tony had seen a few times during his childhood, although the lavender curtains that his mother had painstakingly made were still in place. The carpet took up only about a quarter of the space, and looked a little forlorn, but eager to welcome him home.

Even Dummy, who had long since acquired a cat’s innate ability to use Shortcuts, was there. Sleeping in the middle of Tony’s bed. The cat sith took one look at Tony, yawned as if Tony was the least important thing in the world, and curled back into a ball, taking up the very center of the bed.

Tony felt an absurd burst of fondness for the creature. “Useless pain in my neck,” he scolded. “Get up. I need that bed.” He sat on the side of the bed and shoved at Dummy, even if his push lingered a little to scratch at Dummy’s ears.

Dummy malingered long enough to make it clear that he was leaving by choice before thudding to the floor and finding a neat pile of towels to mess up and claim as a sleeping place.

Bucky hadn’t moved from the doorway, but as soon as Tony turned his attention to his lover, Bucky crossed the room to him. “I feel as though I could sleep for a week straight,” Bucky said, and then shuddered. “But I’m afraid of dreaming.”

Tony couldn’t argue with that; his own nightmares were lurking, waiting for him. “We can’t stay awake forever,” he said, taking Bucky’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “I... can promise that I’ll be here if you need me.”

Bucky nodded, and he kissed Tony’s fingers, one at a time. Not as if he were leading to any sort of evening activities, but like a child counting his prayers, or asking for blessings. They turned down the blankets and climbed into bed. For a while, either by choice or in some sort of penance, Bucky tried to sleep on the very edge of the bed, but as he grew sleepy, he scooted over, a few inches at a time, as if unconsciously seeking comfort in Tony’s presence. When he was close enough to touch, their heart beats synched up, throbbing in a single, steady rhythm.

Tony closed the last bit of distance between them until they were twined together, warm and safe. He closed his eyes and felt their hearts beating, slow and soothing, and let sleep carry him away.

 


	19. The Gift of a Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut-averse readers, you'll want to stop after the section break, but skip to the end for a quick note. :)

Bucky woke to darkness and the cool rush of air over his legs. He froze, stuck somewhere in that misty realm between nightmares and waking, where he wasn’t quite sure if the monsters that had chased him were real and just waiting for him to let down his guard.

His heart raced in his chest, like a drum, so hard he could feel it in his throat. Next to his, Tony’s heart was nearly calm, soothing.

There were no monsters under the bed, or lurking in dark corners.

The only monster in the room was laying next to Tony.

Tony frowned, curled in on himself a little tighter, and then with no apparent transition at all, opened his eyes. “Bucky?” He pressed one hand over his chest, reaching for Bucky with the other. “What’s wrong?”

“Dream, I guess,” Bucky said. “You’d… you’d think dreams would give it up, wouldn’t you? After the worst has already happened?”

“You might think,” Tony agreed. He brushed his fingers down Bucky’s cheek. “Though as far as I’m concerned, it could have been much worse.”

Bucky floundered for some way to say it, to make Tony understand, and finally settled on, “I can still feel her,” he said. “Like… waiting. Like all that needs to happen is for her to say the goddamn words, and everything that I want will just be gone, again. It’s almost worse’n having no choice. It’s like she’s _humoring_ me. Like it’s a game to her.”

Tony frowned, considering it. “Yeah, if I concentrate, I can feel Steve. He’s tied to the Summerlands now, and I could... Yeah.” His eyes flicked up to Bucky’s. “It can’t be undone, love. Not without killing you. But maybe we can find a way to... weaken the bond, somehow.”

“I… can feel Steve, too,” Bucky said. “He knows my name, and he used it on me. He… I don’t think he realizes that it changed things, just a little. Not that I don’t know his name, s’well. But so does everyone. It’s odd, to know Steve is pretty much at the mercy of half the court, at least. On the other hand, it’d be hard to use it against him. Someone could take control, and someone else could just take it back. Maybe what the King did was a kindness, of a sort.”

“Maybe,” Tony said doubtfully. “Would he listen, if you tried to explain it to him? He should know just how serious it is.”

He almost laughed, but not quite. Bucky could see that conversation going less than well. “Th’ first thing he’d probably say is that I should use his back on him, so we’d be evenly matched again. As if we ever were. As if--” Steve was a good man, the best. He never compromised his principles. He was true, and loyal, and just, and right, even before the King’s appointment made him powerful.

And since he’d been weak, before, he had more respect for that power, knowing he could so easily hurt someone with it.

“Treaty or no, concessions or not,” Bucky said. “I don’t know that you’re ever gonna be able t’ trust me. Right now, she’s scared, but… having me here, perfectly positioned. Tony-- I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Good. I don’t want to be hurt.” Tony smiled a little, and then sobered again. “Lovers always have the ability to hurt each other,” he pointed out. “This is just a little... more. I don’t know how to protect against it, not without doing something I won’t -- _can’t_ \-- do.”

“It was meant for you,” Bucky said, resenting it. Something that was supposed to be precious and perfect, and it’d been _spoiled_. “I was… I was going to give it to you. I would have done it, any time, if you’d asked it of me.”

Tony shook his head. “Done what, give what to me?”

“My name,” Bucky said. “Like to be the only thing I ever _could_ give you. Somethin’ that was entirely mine, and of value, and I’d have given it freely to someone who would have treasured it. Now… now it’s worthless.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, sweetheart, I... It’s not worthless, not... nothing of you could be worthless, or worth any less for it having been used against you.”

Bucky brushed his fingers over Tony’s cheek. It was easy enough to see that Tony was touched by the offer. That it still meant something to him. “Too bad it don’t work like it does at home.”

“How does it work there?” Tony asked gamely. He caught Bucky’s fingers and kissed them lightly.

“It’s a sacred thing, you know that,” Bucky said. “We got all sorts of custom and rituals, so I don’t think any fae’s ever seen it. I think, back in the day, it was meant to protect people. The myth is, of course, that the fae come and they steal young ladies away. Young ladies, you understand, being more prone to being tricked and stolen. Men, well, we just get drowned or lost in bogs, or eaten, or something needlessly gruesome.”

He rolled onto his back, drawing Tony’s arm over his chest, feeling the heat of the fae against him, trying desperately to let it warm him, melt away some of the parts of him that were frozen, still. 

“So, to protect the young women, they get married,” Bucky said. “And when they do that, they give up a part of their name, and they take their husband’s, instead. So any fae that fooled them when they were a child can’t find them anymore. Because that’s not their name.”

Tony pushed up onto his elbow to look down into Bucky’s face. “Does it work? I mean, it happens that a mortal who’s given their name to a fae stops responding to it, but mostly we assume that’s because... well, they’re _mortal_.”

“It’s legal, binding, and _tradition_ ,” Bucky said. “It works. The priest says the words, her husband kisses her to seal the promise, and she’s no longer Jane Anne Smith, now she’s Jane Smith Doe. Her name is _changed_.”

“...Huh.” Tony thought about that for a moment. “We could try it. You’re human, and I’m _half_ human. It might work.”

Bucky felt his neck heat. “You uh… you know what bein’ married means, right? It’s… ain’t just a ritual of protection, it comes with promises and obligations.” Not that what Tony had done, sharing his heart, giving it to Bucky, wasn’t a similar thing, and Bucky had given his own back. Maybe that was as close to married as the fae got. He’d never heard of one of them with a _wife_. Even having children wasn’t the same, for a fae.

Tony hummed. “What kind of promises and obligations?”

Bucky drew Tony’s hand up to press it against their shared heart. “Let me see if I can remember it exactly. I state my name, and agree that I will take you -- with your name -- as my husband, I will love, honor, care for you, and keep you, in sickness, in health, in good times and through bad times, for rich or for poor, forsaking all others, for as long as we both shall live.”

Tony appeared to consider that. “The fae wouldn’t include the part about forsaking all others,” he observed. He thought about it some more, then nodded. “That all seems fair.”

Bucky’s heart thudded with a sudden, agonizing pain. Not that… well, Tony had never promised anything, had he? “That’s what the vows are,” he said. “Sometimes, if the church’s bein’ greedy, there’ll be a line in there about raisin’ kids to the true faith, or sometimes there’s a bit in there about the wife obeyin’ her husband. Depends on the church and the priest who’s making it binding. _With the power vested in me, I declare you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride._ And then it’s done.”

“I’m not promising to obey anyone,” Tony said. “I barely even obeyed my father, and he was the King. And I’m not raising my children to a mortal religion, though I don’t think that would be an issue.” He chewed on his lip for a moment, turning it over. “The rest of it, though... I could promise that. For you.” He looked at Bucky again. “If you wanted me to.”

Bucky raised Tony’s hand, kissed the palm. Another benefit to being wed, in the human world, was that spouses could not be forced to testify against each other. Legally, could not be forced to _bring harm down on the other_. Bucky wasn’t sure if it would work, if he could be protected, if Tony could be _protected_.

_Don’t lie,_ Bucky told himself _. You’re not doing this out of anything other than pure selfishness. You want him, and you want him to stay with you. That’s all this is. It’s just a way to hold on._

“Well, you already gave me a ring,” Bucky said. “And… I don’t know, I can’t imagine wantin’ anyone else, much less bein’ willin’ to… you know. With someone that wasn’t you.”

Tony brightened. “Yes? Then we only have to set aside the time to travel to the mortal world and find a cleric who can bind us!” He leaned in and brushed a kiss over Bucky’s lips.

“Well, that might take quite a bit of gold,” Bucky said. He knew of at least two drunken sots of priests, Catholic both, who might take a hefty indulgence to overlook the sin of homosexuality long enough to say the words. Not like Bucky was planning on paying taxes in the mortal realm again. 

It was the ceremony, not the government, that was important.

“Gold, I have,” Tony said easily. He cuddled up against Bucky’s side. “It... may not free you _entirely_ ,” he said. “The Soldier’s bond isn’t tied to a name. But it would keep her from calling you to heel.”

“She won’t, I hope, be able t’ override me entire,” Bucky said. “I wouldn’t have even been able to warn you. Although… she didn’t tell me to kill you. Just the King. And Steve.”

“Sometimes it’s good to be underestimated, I suppose.” Tony tucked his head on Bucky’s shoulder, nuzzling almost as determinedly as Dummy demanding pets. “I doubt she’ll make that mistake again.”

“Doubtful,” Bucky said. “But I think she will try again. Maybe not soon, but eventually. She exploited a new situation. But even having gambled and lost, she’s not worse off than she was, and she’s gained… well, quite a lot, to her mind.” 

A Winter Soldier. There hadn’t been one in so long that even the Queen could not quite recall.

That Tony had turned right around and made a Summer Soldier… well, it hadn’t quite negated the move. Like chess. The Queen sacrificed a piece now, to take another later. “I’m terrible at chess,” he confessed.

“It’s not my best game, but I’m not bad at it. We’ll see what kind of moves she makes during the reparations discussion. And then I’ll marry you, so she doesn’t have your name.” Tony sounded both confident and pleased.

“You’re supposed to _ask_ ,” Bucky grumbled, vaguely offended, but not really hurt. After all, Tony didn’t know the rules. He rolled up onto his side, leaning on his elbow to look at Tony. “Or, I suppose I could ask you, but really, you’re a lot higher ranking than I am.” Or maybe not. Winter Soldier might be the chess equivalent of the Knight, the second most powerful piece in the game, stronger, really, than the King, if less important.

“Oh. I thought-- Well, you’re right, there wasn’t any... Right, yes, asking.” He sat up and tugged Bucky upright, as well, and then slithered off the bed so fast that Bucky thought for a moment that he’d actually _fallen_. But then, no, he was upright, on one knee, Bucky’s hand still caught in his. “Keeper of my heart,” he said solemnly, “will you grant me your hand?”

“ _Oh_ ,” Bucky said, drawing in an almost shocked breath. He’d mostly been joking; the need to change his name far outranked any simple wish of his heart, or desires of his own. And yet, hearing Tony say the words, he could forget, for a while, that it was urgent, or necessary, and reminded him, truly, that a marriage was between people who _loved_. He’d heard it said that accepting a proposal would relieve the sufferings of the one who proposed, but in this case… Bucky was the one gratefully relieved. “I will. It would make me the happiest man alive, to have the honor of being your husband.”

Tony smiled, as brightly happy as if he might have actually doubted Bucky’s answer. He kissed Bucky’s hand, very formally, and then nuzzled into Bucky’s palm, curving Bucky’s fingers around his jaw. He looked up at Bucky again, and his eyes were filled with love and joy. “Do you know, I’ve never knelt to anyone else before.”

Bucky found himself looking down at Tony, there on his knees, and-- “Well, there are some little joys to be had from it.” He leaned down and kissed Tony possessively. “I could tell you about it, if you wanted.”

Tony stretched upward, chasing the kiss as Bucky pulled away, but he didn’t stand up again. “Tell me. I want to know.”

***

Tony had never even knelt to Howard, only bowed, occasionally, to acknowledge the prince’s place behind the king. But there, in the King’s Chamber, Tony had never felt anything so _right_ as being on the floor, the living carpet cushioning his weight, his knees bent as he looked up at the man he loved. The man he would promise to love and cherish for the rest of his days.

Bucky gave him a coy, flirty sort of look, a gaze filled with heat and promise. A welcome change from the fear, grief, and remorse that had made up most of Bucky’s expressions recently. “There’s all sorts of things you’re in th’ right position for, down on your knees. Since you’re so close to me, anyway.” He traced his metal thumb over Tony’s mouth, followed by teasing at the crease of Tony’s lips with a fingertip, breaching Tony’s mouth and letting him taste the silver on his tongue.

Tony drew that finger further into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the pad, sucking hard to pull it in as far as it could go. He resettled himself on both knees, shuffling a little closer so that when Bucky pulled his hand free, Tony could nuzzle along the inside of Bucky’s thigh, teasing with hot breath and a flick of tongue and a scrape of teeth as he worked his way upward, his eyes on Bucky’s face.

“I dunno what it is… You’re so sweet,” Bucky told him. “Look at you, jus’--” He waved a hand around, directing the few bits and pieces of clothing they had on to go fold themselves up. “You look at me, the way you look at me, like I’m still-- that I matter to you. Gonna give me a swole head, in more ways than one.”

Tony grinned and then moved his mouth farther up Bucky’s thigh, and his hands came up to gently and inexorably push the vee of Bucky’s legs wider, and wider still, until Tony was licking at the inner crease of Bucky’s hip, his cheek brushing Bucky’s balls. “Do you like this?” he asked, teasing. “Like having me here, at your feet, serving you? Waiting on your command?”

“I like it,” Bucky agreed. “You’re rich, an’ smart, an’ gorgeous, the most powerful fae in the whole realm, and here you are, pretty an’ perfect, an’ eager for me. For me. It’s a heady feelin’, my darling. Here you are, vulnerable, and trusting. You-- God, Tony, you got no idea how it makes me feel.”

“I hope I’ll make you feel that way often,” Tony said. “And other ways, as well.” He moved up, licking a broad stripe up Bucky’s cock. It was an earthy, heavy sort of flavor, unlike anything Tony had tasted before. He let out a shuddering groan of need and did it again, sucking the head of Bucky’s cock into his mouth, feeling the shape of it, each ridge and fold of flesh, the bitter burst of precome at the very tip.

Bucky made a soft, needy sound, leaning back on his elbows and let his head tip back, stretching himself out for Tony’s perusal. “That’s so good,” he said, voice cracking in the middle with desire.

“I’m glad,” Tony said, and took him in again, deeper this time, and then deeper still, hands stroking along the insides of Bucky’s thighs, cupping his balls, teasing at his crack. Bucky tasted so _good_ , and every little touch seemed to make him gasp or quiver delightfully, an instrument that Tony could play. A glamour of pleasure to weave, without using any magic at all.

Bucky’s thighs clenched up, he rolled his hips gently to meet Tony’s mouth, every part of him fully focused on what Tony was doing between his legs. His skin rippled with delighted gooseflesh, and the sounds that came out of his mouth were lewd, full of desperate desire. Within moments, the bossy, somewhat commanding soldier was completely gone, and all that was left was Bucky, being wrung out and wrecked by the sensations that Tony was unleashing on him. “Don’t know that I ever needed anythin’ like I need you.”

_You have me_ , Tony wanted to say, but couldn’t. He tried to show it in the way he looked up at Bucky, the drag of his lips and the curl of his tongue. He lost himself in it, the rhythmic motion, the harsh rasp of each breath, the moans and the gasps. He let himself float, not to be the king or even the prince, just Tony, only Tony, and Bucky, whom he loved. Their hearts were racing in his chest, not quite in sync but equally staccato and frantic.

“I want-- I _want_ ,” Bucky said, tossing his head back and forth on the bed, knees spread wide and wanton. “Tony, god--” He shouted, his hips heaving up from the bed, whole body going stiff and shaky. He quivered, then spilled into Tony’s mouth. His chest heaved as he gasped and stuttered and trembled with the force of it.

Tony almost choked on the first, not quite expected, wave, but then caught the rhythm of it, pressing Bucky’s hips back down onto the bed and swallowing, and swallowing again, and again, until Bucky was nearly flinching back from Tony’s touch, oversensitive and overstimulated.

Grinning smugly, Tony climbed back up onto the bed, kneeling over Bucky on all fours, panting a little and watching Bucky’s face.

“Pretty,” Bucky said, brushing his thumb over Tony’s lip where it tingled and felt puffy, swollen from the use he’d put it to. “Shhh… don’t speak. I wanna say my piece first. Yeah?” He kept his fingers over Tony’s lips as if he had concerns that Tony would talk, anyway, which, fair.

But if Bucky wanted Tony to say silent, then he would, at least for a time. He kissed Bucky’s finger where it rested over his lips, but nodded, stretching out next to Bucky to listen.

“Ain't hardly what I had in mind for my future, you know,” Bucky said. “When I had time an’ inclination for daydreams. Never thought this, not even in my wildest flights of fancy. You or this world or any of it. But… I want you to know. I wouldn't… I wouldn't give you up. Not for anything. Even as terrible as some of this has been, I want you to know, I love you. I don't regret coming here.”

He took a long breath, let it out. Then, “I don't know if you have some sort of formal way of doing it, but… my name… it's James. I want you to have it, to know it. I want to hear you say it, when your voice is all raw from loving me. James Buchanan Barnes.”

For an instant, Tony _couldn’t_ speak, not with the tide of love that threatened to pull him under. It left him gasping, on the edge of tears, a gift that was precious beyond measure.

Now, even more than before the Winter Queen had taken him. Now, he knew the full measure of what he’d done, giving his name into Tony’s keeping. He knew _precisely_ how much control it gave Tony over him -- and he still loved Tony enough, _trusted_ Tony enough, to give it.

Tony surged up and caught Bucky’s mouth in a desperate kiss, as if he could taste the syllables still lingering on Bucky’s tongue and needed to savor every last bit of it.

When he finally pulled away, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against Bucky’s, eye to eye and nose to nose, breathing each other’s air. “Bucky,” he panted. “ _James_. My love.” He looked into Bucky’s eyes, brushing the hair back from Bucky’s face. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he whispered, feeling the way it wound around Bucky’s soul, putting it solidly into Tony’s hands.

He breathed it in, the sharp sweetness of it, an ache and a joy, and surrounded it with love, pressing it close against his heart -- and then released it again.

Bucky sighed into it, body shivering as if he was in the grip of powerful magic, or a second climax. “That was just a sweet as I hoped it would be,” Bucky said. He squirmed around in the bed for a moment, until he was looking down at Tony. “You remember it, ‘cause I'mma make you scream it.” 

He kissed Tony, slow, drugging kisses, almost too needy and heated to be sweet. Something beyond sweet, infinitely tender, completely adoring. “Love you,” Bucky said, “more'n anything.”

“I love you too.” Tony kissed Bucky’s shoulder, and then along the line of his neck, up to his ear. Tony nuzzled at the soft, sensitive skin there, and then, driven by a need, a hunger greater than any compulsion, whispered, “Anthony Edward Stark.”

Bucky sucked in a breath, and Tony could feel the double thrum of it, through the hearts they shared, now linked and bound with Names. “Woah,” Bucky said. “I understand… _everything_. Oh, God.” He kissed Tony's forehead, “Anthony Edward Stark.” 

Like there had been an empty place in Tony's life, in his heart, and in his mind… and with that somehow simple declaration, everything fell into place. He had a partner, a beloved friend, trusted lover. Everything.

“Oh,” Tony breathed, staring at Bucky in wonder. It was as if he’d been in pain and then suddenly healed. “Oh, sweetheart, my beautiful James, that’s... that’s perfect.”

“Not yet,” Bucky told him. Stroked down Tony's body with wondering fingers. “But it will be. Promise, gonna make you feel so good.” His hand teased at Tony's hip, ticklish and caressing, until Tony was wriggling, trying to get Bucky to touch where he needed it.

“Bucky!” He tried to catch Bucky’s hand, to move it himself, but Bucky caught his wrist and pulled it away again. Tony groaned and surrendered, tipping his head back and spreading his arms wide, making himself an offering to his lover. He’d given Bucky _everything_ , already; what was a little more? Still, he couldn’t quite seem to suppress a soft whine of a plea: “Touch me, Bucky, _please_...”

“Don't you fret none, little fairy,” Bucky said. “I'll do more'n touch you before I'm done.” He took almost ruthless advantage, kissing and following those kisses with caresses, moving up and down Tony's body. He licked, tasted, sampled. Made a feast of Tony's whole self and sated himself on it. “Anthony Edward Stark.” 

The words sizzled, dropped onto his skin like rain, a flicker of pain that blossomed into rapture. Bucky licked along the path the sounds had left, as if he could see where they'd fallen, each sweep of his tongue a beautiful torture.

Tony gasped and writhed, unable to remain still, giving himself wholly to every delicate sensation. He curled into the soft caress of his name, a sweetness he hadn’t even known possible before Bucky had given that to him. Each whispered repetition wrapped him tighter -- not in chains but in the finest silk, not holding him down but bearing him up.

“James,” he returned, breathless with wanting and overflowing with love. “James Buchanan Barnes, my heart...”

“I got you, right here with you,” Bucky answered him, and finally, finally, when Tony didn’t think he could take any more, Bucky touched him, a heated, slick caress up his length, those metal fingers smooth and perfect. Tony stroked himself through a loosely held fist, as Bucky let him move and sway and thrust _up._ “I’m gonna take good care of you.”

His hand drifted lower, gently cupping Tony’s balls, the fingers going back to circle and press at the entrance of Tony’s body. “You want that, love? Want these fingers in you, the ones you made for me?” Bucky mouthed at the head of Tony’s cock, tongue flicking over the slit. 

“Yes,” Tony breathed. “Oh, oh Bucky, please, yes, I want, I want all of you, everywhere, need to feel you in me, _with_ me.” His body seemed to pull taut as a bowstring, quivering between Bucky’s hand and mouth, unable to come to a rest. “I need you.” He reached down, groping half-blindly until his hand fell on Bucky’s head, fingers curling into Bucky’s hair, desperate for _more_.

Bucky gave him a quick kiss, and moved, filling the space where he’d been with a rush of cooler air, and was back in a moment with the crystal jar of slick, getting his fingers, those silvery, beautiful fingers, wet. “Yeah, I can see that you do,” Bucky said, and then, with a sudden grunt, he breached Tony’s opening with one finger. Utterly smooth, seamless, Bucky worked it in, crooking a little to stroke just inside. 

“Wish you could see how pretty this looks,” Bucky told him, slowly fucking him with one finger, in, and out, and _twist_.

“If it looks half as good as it feels,” Tony said, hoarse with wanting, “then it’s a fair sight, indeed.” He arched into the touch, silently urging Bucky in deeper. “Love, oh my love, yes, like that, keep going...”

Bucky pulled back, and out, and before Tony could even think to protest, he was back with two fingers, feeling around inside, seeking, searching-- oh, oh, that was just perfect there. “You know,” he said, almost bland, as if they were having an ordinary conversation in Tony’s workshop, instead of having Tony stretched out, splayed on the bed, and working him over, “there’s somethin’ I noticed about this arm. You want me to tell you? How it doesn’t get tired, or cramped, or sore. There’s no muscle to ache, no tendons to get stretched. Which means I could jus’... keep on doin’ this. An’ just this. For as long as I wanted.”

And for the moment, that sounded like paradise, this bright, sparking pleasure and the feel of Bucky moving in him, over him. But Tony knew full well that he’d grow impatient before long, would need more and more and _more_. Just thinking about it made him groan. “I didn’t,” he panted, “didn’t design your arm with lovemaking in mind. But I’m glad to know it’s serving you well. I’m not sure I could hold out as long as you, though.”

Bucky purred in Tony’s ear. “Let’s see how long you can,” he dared, hand moving slow, in and out, pressure on the inside, a tug at Tony’s rim. He slid down Tony’s body again, lipping at Tony’s cock, tongue darting out to taste in soft, warm strokes, a delicate counterpoint to the steady rhythm of his fingers.

He encouraged Tony to thrust, up into the heated silk of his mouth, and then back down onto those perfect, metal fingers. A torrent of sensation, washing over him, practically drowning him in it. 

Bucky pulled back, enough to grab a breath of air, then, “Anthony--” He swallowed Tony’s cock, all the way down to the base, tongue twisting along the shaft. “Edward.” And down again, a perfect seal, pressure and heat, wet and slick. “Stark.”

Tony cried out, his name surging through him like a hot wind, writhing in Bucky’s grasp, begging and swearing and praying as the pleasure mounted ever higher, a peak seemingly without end. Tony’s skin flushed hot and then shuddered cool, waves of sensation washing over him until he wasn’t even entirely sure he was still lying on the bed. Didn’t _care_ where he was, as long as Bucky kept _touching him_.

“Bucky, Bucky, oh-- _Oh_ , that’s perfect, you’re perfect, I love you, I love you, I--” When his climax washed over him, it was a cooling relief, the shock of diving into a cold lake on a hot day, exquisite and unbearable all at once. He didn’t realize he’d arched off the bed until he collapsed back onto it, or that he’d screamed until he swallowed through a raw throat.

“There you are, my beautiful fae prince,” Bucky crooned over him, kissing his slack mouth, down his cheek, nuzzled at his throat. His mouth was red and swollen and used, eyes bright, and he was limned in the faint light of the room, the most exquisite thing that Tony had ever seen.

“You’re so beautiful,” Tony said muzzily, brushing his fingers over Bucky’s face. “And all mine.”

“Yours,” Bucky agreed. He went to snuggle up to Tony, and then realized what a complete mess they were. “Hang on, doll, let me find you a towel or somethin’.” He kissed Tony’s cheek, chaste and soft and sweet, and then set to the business of getting cleaned up enough to rest comfortably. “Can we jus’ pretend the world don’t exist tomorrow? Sleep all day until it’s night again?”

Tony had to push through the post-climax fuzziness to consider that. Today would be hectic, and it would be best if they were up soon, but tomorrow... “Yes,” he decided. “I think we can. I think we’ve earned that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who skipped the second half -- in the midst of lovemaking, Bucky and Tony exchange their full, real names.


	20. A Tribute for a Hero

The first time it happened, Bucky was almost willing to write it off as an accident, or some sort of mortal dislike. The group of conversing nobles had gone quiet, and moved, carefully, so that he couldn’t actually mingle, as Pepper (with Tony nodding absently in agreement) had told him to do.

Very much unlike the first party, where the fae had been eager to speak with him, to look at him. A novelty.

Bucky took a cup of soft, floral wine and found a bit of tree to hold up, just watching over the rim of his cup. “You think it’s me, or what?” Bucky wondered as Steve made his way over, a whole plate full of food in one hand. Bucky stole one of the sweet rose candies and absently wished for chocolate, instead.

“I think the fae are a bunch of stuck-up snobs,” Steve said, pointedly.

“Don’t keep ‘em from making eyes at you, now that you’re both the Summer Soldier and a free agent,” Bucky said. “I’m invisible. It’s like I’m turning into you. Some sort of nightmare.”

Not that he had any interest in another fae, not like that, but the way they were closing ranks against him made Bucky nervous in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“If I could trade back, I would,” Steve said, rather determinedly _not_ looking toward one small cluster of hungry-eyed fae who were obviously fascinated by him.

Bucky took a step back and made a show of looking over Steve, and all of Steve’s, well, everything. “No, you wouldn’t,” he said. “You just need to find yourself a nice fae to settle with, who’ll snarl at all these gawkers.” They weren’t really sure what, exactly, they were going to do with Steve. 

As the Summer Soldier, he had a certain binding to the land, the same way Bucky did for Winter. But it left the Ambassador position open, and--

“-- not fit to be king, I always said it and I’m saying it now --”

“...let them both wander around the palace, like they’re actually more than pets…”

Bucky took a deep breath and did not look over his shoulder at the nobles. “Who’s behind me?” he said to Steve in a low voice, trying to keep his tone as unconcerned as it had been, mere moments before, even if his heart had skipped a beat and was throbbing uncomfortably in his chest now. Tony’s thudded once in sympathy.

Steve glanced up -- Lord, could he be any _less_ subtle? -- and reported, “That one guy with the hair that looks like a beaver passed out on top of his head, and the one with the really awful dress made out of tears, and Lord Why-Don’t-We-Just-Close-the-Border-Entirely.”

“Lord Justin and his cronies, okay,” Bucky said, rubbing his finger against his nose. “He seems to be right in the thick of things, almost all the time. You ought to try charming him, sometimes. He’s making things difficult for Tony.”

Steve pulled a face. “I can’t just randomly charm people I don’t even like, Buck. What’s he doing to Tony?”

“Suggesting that Tony’s not a fit ruler,” Bucky said, “an’ he’s doing it all on the sly, where Tony can’t just refute him.” Not, Bucky thought, that Tony might want to. It was only three days into Tony’s reign -- it wasn’t even official yet; the coronation wouldn’t be held until after the treaty with Winter was renewed. To give the palace time to prepare, said some, but others said that the Queen might ask for things only a King could give her, and with Tony as a mere Prince… it was bogglingly stupid, and Bucky, for one, kinda wanted to pitch most of the fae out a tall window.

There was a word for that, Bucky had been told, with an old and dignified history. Death by being thrown out a window: defenestration.

Steve’s nose wrinkled. “Politics,” he said, in the same tone that he might have used to describe an insect infestation or a particularly unpleasant odor. “Maybe you should go warn him?”

Bucky took another sip of his wine, letting his arm rest against his chest, just enough to rest a comforting touch there. “He knows, or he will soon enough,” Bucky said. “I wish I could help him, but I’m pretty sure I’m just making things worse.” He peered in the bottom of the cup and wondered if it was his being a Soldier that made the wine have almost no effect on him, or if something else had happened. What he did know was that getting drunk didn’t seem to happen. He wasn’t even the least bit fuzzy-headed. “I’ll tell you, I’m almost looking forward to the treaty. At least war makes sense. A bit.”

“It’s simpler, anyway,” Steve agreed. “You know where you stand.”

Well, Bucky knew where he wanted to stand, at any rate. At Tony’s side, right where he belonged. The Queen might have other ideas. And with Tony not quite bargaining as an equal… well, anything could happen.

There was another squeeze near his heart. It’d be nice, he thought, if he could tell his emotions from Tony’s these days, except they’d… done something. An exchange of hearts and names, and now they were so tangled together that even Bucky couldn’t tell where he left off and when Tony began.

“Let’s play a game of pretend, shall we, Stevie?” Bucky asked. “You tell me what you’d want to do, if you could do anything you wanted. You know, barring nonsense like punching Hitler in the jaw.”

“Anything?” Steve considered it. “Honestly?” He glanced around furtively. “I’d go _home_. Fairyland is pretty enough, and I’m glad I’ve gotten to see it -- that’s something, you know? But it’s not where I belong.”

Bucky nodded. “I know what you mean. If I didn’t have Tony, I… well, I don’t know what choice we got.” And now he was depressed again. “Everything’s so high-stakes here. It’s not like my worst problem these days is m’ boss skimmin’ off the top of my paycheck every week, you know. Of course, it’s nice not to have to worry about starvin’ to death. Or paying off your hospital bills.”

Steve tipped his head in acknowledgement. “I’m not sayin’ everything was perfect, back home. Just... We weren’t so _alone_.”

Bucky knew Tony was there before even he spoke, a sense of his heart coming home. “Well, I’m not _always_ alone,” Bucky said, turning to watch as Tony crossed the room to his side. He stopped long enough to make a snide remark to Lord Justin -- or at least, based on the face Justin made behind Tony’s back, Bucky assumed it was snide. “Your highness.” Bucky raised one eyebrow along with the honorific, making it into something a little more personal than it would be, otherwise. “You look weary. Can we slip away, yet?”

“Soon,” Tony promised, his arm curling around Bucky’s waist even as he leaned subtly into Bucky’s side, letting Bucky support his weight a little. “I’m expected to look a little tired, you know. It’s a funeral, after all.”

“It’s an excuse for political maneuvering disguised as grief and sympathy,” Bucky said, disgusted. “They make speeches about your father that they don’t mean to claim favors you shouldn’t have to give. Steve and I were just saying we should all run away to the mortal realm together.”

“We were?” Steve said, eyebrow raising. “I don’t remember quite saying _that_.”

Tony smiled wanly. “It sounds wonderful. But then who would rule the Summerlands? Lord Justin?”

Bucky shrugged. “I wouldn’t trust Lord Justin to make decisions about his pantry, much less the palace. Don’t you have any odious cousins or anything? Everyone has odious cousins.”

“I might,” Tony said, “but they’d all be on my mother’s side. Fae tend toward smaller families. I don’t know how far back we’d have to check the bloodlines to find someone with a serious claim--” He pulled away enough to look at Bucky directly. “Are you actually serious?”

“Well, probably not,” Bucky said. “You'd need a strong hand here, or the queen will just take over the whole mess and we'll be fighting her on mortal lands.”

“True,” Tony said, but he looked a little crestfallen. “You know, I think I’ve been here long enough. Let’s leave things in Pepper and Rhodey’s capable hands, for the evening.”

“They are very capable,” Bucky agreed. “You're grieved, your highness. Let's go.”

They took their leave of Steve, and then Bucky took Tony's arm and started to lead him from the hall. “Hypocrite,” someone murmured, just barely loud enough to hear. 

“Murderer,” someone else sneered.

Bucky's hand tightened on Tony's elbow.

Tony didn’t seem to have even noticed the insults, but his heart beat harder in Bucky’s chest. “It’s not true,” he said as they left the gathering, making their way through the dimly-lit halls toward the King’s Chambers.

“You know it don't matter,” Bucky said. “I did it. And that's all they're ever gonna see.” After all, he'd benefited from it, hadn't he? “Can't undo it. Best we can do is get the Queen to make amends, then it'll be on her hands. I hope.”

“Her accepting the blame is first on my list of requirements,” Tony assured him. He sighed and leaned more heavily into Bucky’s side. “I can’t wait for this to be over. I seem to be tired no matter how much I sleep.”

Bucky took a deep breath, then gave a sympathetic smile. “Perhaps we'll find something else for you to do in your chambers, your highness.” 

If he couldn't ease Tony's burden, then maybe he could at least give him some few hours of joy.

Tony smiled, and it looked more genuine, at least. Warmer. “Every minute we have together is a blessing.”

***

“Oh, excuse me, your Highness,” someone said from the door, cutting through Tony’s sleep like a knife through water. He was vaguely aware of Bucky making a disconcerted squeak and vanishing under the leaf-bed’s blankets.

Tony rolled toward the door and opened one eye. “What is it?”

Pepper was standing at the doorway, pointedly not looking into the room. “There’s a very… large, erm… green person at the city gate, saying he has a standing invitation from you, in case of your coronation. We thought -- that is to say, Rhodes thought and I agree -- that he is probably known to you, and therefore, the guard should not engage with him at this time.”

“Bruce!” Tony sat up, inadvertently pulling the blankets back off Bucky, who squeaked again and snatched them closer. Tony slid out of bed and snatched up a robe. “He absolutely has a standing invitation, he’s a good friend. You’re really going to like him, Pep.”

“I’m certain I will,” Pepper said, with remarkably good grace for someone who'd probably had to make sense out of Bruce’s less than coherent sentences when he was angry. And if he was large and green, he was decidedly out of sorts about _something_. Probably the guards, really. People should just have better sense than to point weapons randomly at people. It was just safer for everyone.

“Bruce is nice,” Bucky opined, having wrapped the blankets around most of himself. He was feeling around on the floor for his clothes.

“There, see?” Tony said. He summoned the wardrobe and found something suitable for going out in public, not because he really cared about his image, but because if he tried to leave the King’s Chambers in just a robe, Pepper would eviscerate him. “He’s here for the coronation? That’s not for a few days, yet.”

“He said he’s here for the-- well, the other thing,” Pepper said, and she glanced in Bucky’s direction with one lifted brow. “Let me guess, you haven’t told him?”

“It’s supposed to be a _surprise_ , Pepper,” Bucky muttered, taking his pants and disappearing behind a decorative screen to pull them on.

“What surprise, what, what haven’t you told me?” Tony demanded of the screen.

“You should be pleased,” Pepper told him. “Bucky went to a lot of work, although mostly, I think it was the former Ambassador-- well, anyway, the common fae are very eager and excited.” 

“Yeah, th’ folk in the castle are kinda stuck on themselves,” Bucky said, coming around the screen dressed in his now-usual shadow and snow, now an even better look for him, with the air of Winter that hung around him. He looked the part of his office, and it was particularly appealing. Something about deadly elegance was just… very lovely. “But the people… your actual people. They’re good folk.”

Well, Tony had known that, really, but it was particularly nice that Bucky agreed. “They’re great,” he agreed. “And what have you and Steve been plotting?”

“Dress up pretty,” Bucky said, and he selected a few things from the wardrobe. “Everyone’s going to see you and Steve, today.” He plucked up one of Tony’s more princely robes, of deep red and gold, the very color of autumn leaves, that smelled of cider and pine.

Tony took it and started pulling it on, but he gave Bucky a suspicious look. “ _When_ am I going to be told what’s happening?”

“When we’re sure you’re not going to run away,” Pepper said, smiling. “You look perfect, very regal and heroic. Come on. Let’s find a place for your friend, and then we’ll get you to your surprise.”

Bucky ran a comb through his hair, doing something complicated with his brush that made his hair puff in the front. He peered at himself in the mirror, checking his look. “Go on, get Bruce settled in, I have a few finishing touches, make sure everything’s just right,” Bucky told him.  

Tony opened his mouth, closed it. Whatever they had planned, they weren’t going to tell him. But Bucky would never intentionally hurt him. He took a deep breath and puffed it out. “Right. Fine. Bruce!” he added to Pepper. “Lead the way!”

Bruce was big and green, and very loud, but once Tony chased the guards off and people stopped staring at him down the shafts of arrows, he calmed down and eventually shifted back into the Bruce whose wit and intellect were among the finest in the land.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he told Pepper, as he pulled on a robe that Tony offered. “But I didn’t think they’d let me in any other way, even with Prince Anthony’s invitation.”

Tony threw a delighted arm over Bruce’s shoulders. “It’s a good thing Pepper was nearby. Pepper, Bruce; Bruce, Pepper. Pep, Bruce is brilliant and clever -- those are different things; don’t look at me like that -- and Pepper somehow actually manages me, which is no mean feat.”

“I can only imagine,” Bruce said.    

“You really can’t,” Pepper said drily, but she was smiling fondly at Tony, so that was all right, probably.

“The Border folk are all in uproar over recent events,” Bruce said, then. “And sources say that the Queen is going to bargain at a disadvantage. Given the state of… things. A rather large contingent asked if I would represent them, as an observer, and official suggester of sorts. We know we don’t really have a voice, not on either side, but we all like to know which way the wind is blowing.”

“Of course,” Tony said. “I’ve got some kind of meeting set up with Rhodey and a few other trusted advisors tomorrow to talk about it. You should sit in; I’d value your counsel.”

“Excellent,” Bruce said. 

Pepper consulted some inner sense of timing. “Well, then, it’s almost time. Bruce, if you wouldn’t mind, I think you’ll have a good view from the east rose tower, and you won’t be crowded from there.”

“Thank you, I look forward to it,” Bruce said. “I thought parades were only in human tales, really. Never thought there’d be one here.”

Tony’s head whipped around. “Parades? What parade? Is that the surprise? Pepper, is that the-- Did Bucky and Steve plan a _parade?_ ”

“Bucky did most of the planning, he just brought Steve around with him as backup -- people tend to listen to Steve, I’ve noticed. Maybe it’s the way he cracks his knuckles, I’m not sure,” Pepper said. “It’s supposed to be a surprise. You’re being _honored_.” She gave him a stern look. “Do not ruin this for him.”

Tony held up his hands. “I’m not ruining anything,” he protested. “What do I need _honor_ for, though? I’m the _prince_ , that’s not enough honor for him?”

“Being the _prince_ is a mere title,” Pepper said seriously, straightening out his jacket carefully. “That is merely something you were born to. This is honoring you for being brave, and true, and loyal, for being clever under threat, for loving so much, and living so well. This is meant to honor the fae that you are, not the title or the blood you were born to. Your choices, Tony. He’s a good man, and it’s a good thought.”

“I was terrified the whole time,” Tony confessed. “Steve... Steve deserves to be honored, but I just...” He waved helplessly.

“Our Summer Soldier is also being honored,” she said. “Bucky insisted. But it is you that the common fae have come to see.”

Tony didn’t deserve any honor. He’d glamoured a couple of doors, bestowed a title, and broken some memory crystals. That wasn’t anything that called for a parade. But as Pepper said, if Bucky had arranged this, then Tony couldn’t deny it. “All right,” he said. “For Bucky.”

“You do not give yourself enough credit,” Pepper said, and she sniffed. “Forgive me for speaking ill of the dead, but your father did not have the sense the Ancients gave a wombat, the way he treated both his sons. Much pain would have been spared, if he’d done anything close to right by either of you.”

“Well, that may be true,” Tony admitted. “Though I think Gregory was doomed from the start. He didn’t have a heart.” He shook off the momentary melancholy. “Go on, then, lead me to this parade of yours.”

“It is _your_ parade, your highness,” Pepper said, teasing. “This way. You’ll ride the float with the Summer Soldier.”

Tony had never seen a _float_ before, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. Someone had been working hard on their glamour, as the float was a platform, encouraged to float about three feet above the ground, covered with blooming flowers, and a golden divan with fancy cushions for Tony to lounge on.

In front of his _float_ was the rest of the parade, a marching band playing instruments, a line of dancing fae, and a few jesters and prancers who were leading the display on one of the broad streets that circled the palace.

The street itself was lined with the common folk, waiting and watching.

“Bucky managed all this?” Tony looked around in awe.

“Yes, he did,” Pepper said. “He was quite enthusiastic about it. Ah, there you are, Steve, get on the float with Tony, and we’ll let everyone have a look at you.”

“Yes, please, by all means, Steve, get up here with me so I won’t be the only one everyone is staring at,” Tony said cheerfully. He took his seat and tried to assume some sort of noble posture and expression that the people would be expecting. “You’re the one who did all the most important work, anyway.”

Steve took a seat on the cushion just below Tony’s chair. “Trained monkey,” he muttered. “Honestly, just a bunch of pomp and circumstance.”

“That describes a significant portion of fae life,” Tony pointed out, mildly amused. “You helped plan this thing; you couldn’t talk them into an actual chair for you? Or at least a stool?”

Steve laughed. “There was a whole thing, about how I’m so much bigger than you are,” he explained. “Some master of protocol was horribly offended that I might sit with my head higher than yours.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “I’ve never really understood that one. My head’s still the one with the coronet; it’s not like you being taller makes you the one in charge.” He hesitated. “Not that I’m ever really in charge of my own life, anyway.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Steve said, with a sigh. “I might not have had much of a life back in New York, but at least it was mine.”

Tony looked around. “Why is _Bucky_ not up here with us?” he asked. “He helped.”

“I’m pretty sure Buck’s still of the opinion that, well, he’s kind of the villain in this particular scenario,” Steve said. “He seemed pretty fierce about it.”

“Yes, well, I’m the king, or close enough, and if I want him in the parade with us, then he’ll just have to endure it,” Tony said, putting his nose in the air haughtily. “Pepper! Pepper, go tell Bucky he will ride with us.”

Pepper swirled, her hair forming a strawberry cloud around her face, not quite fast enough to hide her smile. “At once, your Highness.”

Tony smiled beatifically at Steve. “If I have to be cheered and adored, so does he.”

 


	21. Sealed with a Kiss

When Summer’s delegation arrived at the border, it appeared abandoned; the guards that manned the crossing were obviously ill at ease, but reported that no one had come near in weeks, months. They couldn’t remember the last time a fae had approached the border, from either side, sire.

“She’s already here,” Bucky said, looking out over the nothingness but iron and dirt that made up the border. “You can’t feel her in the wind?”

Tony shook his head. “We’re at the border; my ability to glamour information out of the air is over there somewhere.” He waved back toward the Summerlands. “If she’s here, where is she?” 

Bucky raised a hand and pointed at an empty spot near the frost-covered trees on the far side of the border. “She’s there. I can feel her, like a single, silver thread, pulling at me. I could find her in a dark room, blindfolded. I can  _ smell  _ her.”

There were two other, lesser presences with her. They burned like cool flame against the brilliance that was the Queen. Sunset, Bucky thought, and he wasn’t sure of the other. When he and Steve went out, it would be as Summer and Winter’s soldiers. Maybe she was bringing someone to balance the playing field a little. 

“Going to make us wait for her,” Tony guessed. “Power games.” He eyed the ground in front of them thoughtfully. “Well, we’re already here. And she’s the one who’s  _ actually _ been waiting, so.” Tony strode forward, summoned a table with a bit of his personal glamour, and then a chair. He sat down, brought out a scroll and a pen, and started writing out his demands. Slowly, carefully, in his best handwriting.

Bucky took up a guard position, just to Tony’s left, and Steve matched him on the right. They stood as if they’d practiced it, Steve with his hands on his belt, the shield on his back. Bucky with his hands behind his back, his sword clearly visible on his hip.  _ Come on out, my lady. _

“I give her about three more minutes before she gets tired of the display,” Steve said. “You’re rubbing her face in it.”

“A little,” Tony agreed. “Less than she was planning to do to me.” He considered the scroll and went back to writing. “Damn it, I can never remember if it’s  _ whereby _ or  _ wherefore _ .” He hesitated another moment and resumed his writing.

“Don’t ask me, I barely made it through high school,” Bucky said. Not taking his eyes from the spot where she was. Like he was staring directly at her, waiting for her to blink first.

She made them wait at least twenty minutes, probably out of spite, and then faded into existence, a mist rising up from the ground and she stepped out into it. Or, at least, that was how she made it look. To Bucky’s eyes, she just stood up and walked across the single path through the borderlands. As if her glamour didn’t quite work on him anymore.

The Queen was wearing an actual mask, white as snow, and it covered the left half of her face; along with a gown of ice and fury. “I have something that belongs to you,” she said to Tony, as if they were having a simple conversation, and not some world-deciding summit. “Bring her.” 

The third fae, some nameless minion, pulled Sunset behind him, until they were just behind the Queen. 

“Your majesty,” Sunset said, her voice broken and rough. She fell to her knees, a movement that would have seemed careless, giving up, giving out, except she was very precise and didn’t touch the iron-tainted ground. Theatrics. Bucky snorted, not even trying to hide it.

“No, I don’t think so.” Tony sounded cool, unconcerned. He barely glanced at Sunset before going back to his writing, playing the part of careless fae cruelty. “That one belongs to Winter, now.”

“I thought to make a gift of her to you, the traitor to her kind,” the Queen said. “Unlike some others, she made her choice.” The Queen’s glamour wrapped around her again, and like some Janus-faced monster, she appeared to be looking at Tony, while her entire person turned to face Bucky.  _ “Come home, my soldier. You know where you’re meant to be. Power, luxury, peace. I can give it all to you.” _

Bucky felt the string, pulling at him, and his heart ached in his chest. “No, thank you, Majesty, I’ve also chosen my path.”

Tony didn’t quite glance in Bucky’s direction, but his heart sped up a little, and he leaned slightly to the left as he shifted his position. “Well, now that we’ve finished the preliminaries, are you ready to get down to business?” He waved a hand at the scroll he’d been steadily filling, presenting his -- Summer’s -- demands and the reasoning behind them.

“If you wish,” she said, and she glamoured herself up a chair, leaving Sunset sprawled there on the ground at her feet. “What demands do you have for me?” 

Tony sat back in his chair, folding his hands on his knee. “First and foremost, that you, on behalf of Winter, accept all blame and responsibility for the crimes and injustices committed by your servant, Gregory, to include the kidnapping of Bucky, a resident of the Summerlands, subsequent torture and enslavement, and then forcing him to commit further crimes against the Summerlands. You will accept that blame in full, and immediately.”

“King Howard brought the wrath of a son scorned on himself,” the Queen pointed out. “As Gregory is not here to accept that blame, I will do so on his account. I encouraged his… base emotions for my own gain. I wish to offer-- this. As reparation for the King’s death, and the enslavement of the Winter’s Soldier.” She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a crystal decanter, corked with silver. Inside, it shone like someone had plucked a star out of the sky and put it in a bottle. “From the lands beyond the border of both our kingdoms. Pure sunlight.”

Tony didn’t reach for it, but Bucky could sense him quivering with emotion -- surprise, longing, curiosity -- it was hard to tell what, precisely, only that it affected Tony greatly. “That is a handsome offering,” Tony said. He eyed it for a moment, and then turned to Bucky. “Do you think this balances the wrongs done to you?”

Bucky blinked. He hadn’t really expected to be drawn into this argument. He had no set value on his own life, his own pain. The things they’d made him do that he would remember, his entire life. He had no idea what the sunshine would do, and hell, if he wanted it, he could probably convince Tony to take them to New York for an afternoon, and he’d lie out in Central Park and stare up at the sky.

But her acceptance of guilt made him… better. Lighter, perhaps. As if the murder was a weight, taken off him, that he hadn’t even really known he’d been carrying. It let him straighten his back, hold his chin up again. Feel… more worthy, even if he would never, perhaps, deserve the regard in which Tony held him. 

“For the death of the king,” Bucky said, wetting his lips, “Perhaps. A rare and precious thing, to replace a rare and precious fae.” He looked at the Queen, and she was looking right back at him. “Her admission… yes, I will accept that as well. And perhaps, the power I’ve been given balances some of the wrongs that Winter has done me.”

The Queen smiled. It was almost sweet, somehow, with an undercurrent of icy sharpness beneath. 

“Your Majesty,” Bucky said to her. And he felt the crush of her power, all of Winter, all of ice and snow and darkness, all of fear and sorrow and melancholy, and all of the protective, engulfing nature that entailed. “You will, in fact, always be my Queen. I can no more divorce my soul of you than you can of me.”

“He’s very lovely, don’t you think?” the Queen asked Tony, as if she didn’t already know Tony’s opinion. “Mortals. They burn very brightly. And we are too moth-like to resist them.”

“An inaccurate analogy,” Tony said mildly. “A moth’s love of the flame puts its own life at risk, and not the flame’s. We are fascinated by mortals, yes, but we too often consume them.” He reached out to brush his fingers across Bucky’s hand. “It’s a light I wish to see burn longer, not brighter.”

Bucky linked his hand with Tony’s, twining them together. “Your Majesty, Your Highness,” Bucky said, slowly, trying to gather his thoughts. He glanced at Tony for permission to speak, and Tony tipped his head to one side,  _ go on, then.  _ “I do not, however, believe this balances  _ our _ accounts. You hold my name, and I know that you cannot, in fact, give it back. That I am now a power in Winter, and wish to dwell in Summer’s palace, causes damage to both kingdoms. Summer is stronger, having the loyalty of both Soldiers. But also weaker, harboring me within their midst.”

“That is a simple matter,” the Queen said. “Come home. Your place is with us.”

Tony made a soft sound, the beginnings of a protest, and his hand tightened on Bucky’s. When he swallowed, it was hard enough to be audible. “He has made his choice,” Tony said. “You knew his bond to me when you made him your Soldier. You intended it to hurt me. Now you face the consequence of that.”

Bucky shook his head; his hair seemed almost to be frozen, everything about him was cold. He didn’t belong in Summer, he didn’t-- he tried to ignore it. She was doing it to him, singing him songs of ice and frost through the bond of his name between them. “I have a simpler demand,” he said, “and make no mistake, it’s a demand. Your name. Give it to me.”

She recoiled in shock, and at his side, even Tony stirred a little. “You can’t demand that!”

Tony, however, hummed thoughtfully. “It’s been done before.” He reached into his robes and withdrew a book that was far too large to have fit under them.  _ Tales _ . Its trollhide cover seemed lighter, here. Iridescent, almost sparkling. “I can summon the histories, if you care to study them.”

The Queen all but hissed at them, her beautiful face twisting in rage. “What guarantees would I have that you would not use such a thing?”

Bucky leaned forward, took her cold hand and stared at her, intense as a deep frost. “ _ None _ . The same as I. A wrong for a wrong.”

“You may have, if you like,” Tony interjected, idly turning the pages of the tome, “a guarantee that he will not share that knowledge with anyone else.” He glanced up and gave the Queen a sharp smile. “You need only wait out one mortal lifetime before you are free again. It barely even seems fair, since you will hold his name for the entire duration of his life.”

Bucky nodded. “That… that is my price, what I feel will balance the wrongs done to me.” He knew he would never use it, would never compel someone to serve, or to kill, or even something as simple and practical as to  _ stay away.  _ But the Queen had used him without regard for what damage it would do to him, and she deserved to wonder what he would do to her, were she totally in  _ his _ power.

The Queen gnashed her teeth at him, sharp as glass, white as snow. “Very well,” she said. “I ask for one more thing, in return.” She glanced at Steve, at Bucky, then back to Tony. “I want one. I wish safe passage through the Summerlands, once each mortal lifetime, to seek an ambassador of my own. A link to the mortal world, a friend, perhaps. Volunteers to the position only, and they will have the full accords that Summer’s Ambassador keeps.”

Tony sat silent for a moment, stone-faced, no doubt turning the request over in his mind, looking for the hidden barbs. “Steve? You were our Ambassador; this seems like a matter in which obtaining an ambassador’s counsel would be prudent.”

Steve rolled his tongue in his mouth, considering. “An Unseelie Ambassador will be powerful, a force to be reckoned with. Like attracts like; the people who will volunteer will have their own ambitions. But it seems… fair. Balanced.”

Tony nodded slowly. “Very well,” he said. “Safe passage through the Summerlands for three days, consecutive, once every seven sevens of years.”

“Come then,” she said, directing her attention to Bucky. “And we will have our own parley, away from these prying ears, and I will tell you a secret.”

Bucky gave Tony’s hand a squeeze. It could have been a trick, or a trap. Fae couldn’t lie, but they could make someone believe a lie. Convince themselves that the fae in question was honest. Honest wasn’t the same, at all, as  _ trustworthy _ . But the Queen was over a barrel; the summer fae were united in their anger and fear, the border fae had tentatively moved to side with Summer. 

He couldn’t use her name, not really. He’d risk her retaliating, and her torments would always, always be worse than what he could do to her.

She had to know that.

“With your permission,” he said to Tony. Tony also knew Bucky’s name. Tony could protect himself from anything the Queen might use Bucky to do. And-- the Queen  _ didn’t know _ . She couldn’t possibly know that Bucky would willingly give away everything she’d stolen from him.

Tony squeezed Bucky’s hand in return and then let go, smiling up at him. “Of course,” he said easily, but his eyes were solemn and cautious as they met Bucky’s. He glanced at the Queen. “I don’t imagine it will take very long.”

***

Tony watched as the Queen led Bucky aside, holding the tattered remnants of her dignity close. He didn’t smile -- she could still attempt some mischief, and he would need to be on the lookout for it -- but her capitulation to Bucky’s demand was a hopeful sign.

He wondered if having a human Ambassador would soften her taste for treachery, or sharpen it. Sharpen, surely, at least the first time or two. But who knew what could happen over a few mortal lifetimes?

“Remind me,” he murmured to Steve, “when we’ve returned to the Summer Palace, to find the spymaster.”

Bucky had tucked the Queen’s hand against his arm, offering every courtesy. They looked very good together, him dressed entirely in black, like the deepest night, and her in white, the bitterest snow. Once on Winter’s land, she turned to him and he bent his head to listen to what she had to say.

“Do you think she’ll actually tell him?” Steve wondered. “What kind of a name would a creature like that have, anyway?”

“I can’t imagine,” Tony admitted, “but she’ll have to tell him. And he’ll know if she tries to deceive him, to hold part of it back. He’ll feel it. But she won’t forgive us for this anytime soon. We’ll have to keep a very close watch on her from now on.”

Tony got a second of warning, as Bucky’s heart, deep in Tony’s chest, squeezed almost painfully. A hint of exhilaration, like a scream of triumph in the wind, high and cold and clear. And then a jab, anger and humiliation. Across the border, the Queen had wrapped her arms around Bucky’s neck and dragged him down, giving him a kiss.

Bucky shoved, and yet she held him, locked there in that obscene embrace. When she released him, he put his hand to his mouth and it came away bloody. He said something to her, and then spat, his blood leaving a stain on her gown. 

With that, he turned and stomped away from her, not even keeping to the safe path, going straight across the iron-tainted ground. “You can go with her, Sunset,” he paused to tell the traitor fae. “Better hurry. She’s not in the mood to wait, and you don’t want to be locked out.”

Sunset stared at him, the blood still staining his mouth, making him look more like a savage beast than a sentient being. Then she glanced toward the Queen -- already striding angrily away. Sunset hesitated a heartbeat longer, obviously trying to summon some jibe, some cold and cutting threat. But Bucky merely stared at her, impassive, and she looked away, scrambling ungracefully to her feet and stumbling back toward the Winter border.

“Bitch  _ bit  _ me,” Bucky snarled, looking over the border at the two women.

Tony leapt to his feet the instant none of the Winter fae were looking at him, reaching to cup Bucky’s cheek, to examine the wound. “What-- Are you all right? How bad is it?”

Bucky wiped his lip again, then spat, a thick ribbon of blood. “Told me to count myself lucky she didn’t bite my damn tongue out to keep me from ever speakin’ her name.” 

Tony pulled a healing cloth from his pocket and pressed it gently to Bucky’s lip. “Bluff,” he said. “You’d have been forced to  _ write _ her name, which would have been even more potent.”

“Did she tell you?” Steve wondered.

Bucky stared out at the border, where the Queen had vanished. “She did. And she’ll have to live with that, knowing what I  _ might _ do.”

Tony tucked his arm through Bucky’s, letting himself draw comfort from having his lover nearby and -- mostly -- safe. “Balance,” he said. “For now. Come on, let’s go home.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “I’m right tired of bein’ cold.”

 


	22. Standing in Sunlight

Rhodey came in, his silver armor dented here and there. He gave Tony a hasty bow, respect to the king lost somewhere in his flippant behavior to his friend. Stars, Tony didn’t know how he’d cope with this, if it wasn’t for Rhodey’s steadfast support. “The uprising in the north countries has been quelled, Majesty,” he reported, the unspoken _for the moment_ hanging off the end of his sentence.

Tony leaned against the arm of the throne -- and why couldn’t it be a more comfortable chair? he wondered for the hundredth time -- and rubbed at his forehead, trying to stave off the headache. “Did they have anything new to say for themselves?”

Rhodey made a face, the one that said enough, Tony didn’t need to hear it. “They doubt your Majesty’s judgement. We’ll wear ‘em down, Tones. We only lost two soldiers, and they’re down more’n a dozen. Eventually, they’ll decide you can’t be overthrown.”

“My father didn’t have to conquer his own lands,” Tony sighed. “I always knew they were hoping he’d eventually name a full fae as his heir, but...” He slumped farther into the chair, scrubbing both hands over his face. “I can’t _do_ anything like this. I can’t even do anything _for them_.”

“If they want to avoid falling victim to Winter, they need to stop this nonsense,” Rhodey said. “Fighting each other, even small skirmishes like this? It weakens us. They’re scared, really. You’ve got one of Winter’s Own sitting at your side -- sorry, Bucky, it’s true. Scared people don’t make smart decisions.”

Bucky waved a hand, negligently. The last few weeks had been… a strain. Bucky was struggling with nightmares, and an explosion of Winter’s Power hadn’t helped. His emotions tended to leak out into the local weather. A bit of anger and it might start snowing; making love with Tony had resulted in a display of the aurora borealis over the castle. 

“Honestly, I think it might actually be better for us all if I abdicated. Take Bucky and Steve to the mortal realm and we could be Summer’s ambassadors to the mortals.” Steve had been trying to explain what an ambassador was _supposed_ to be for. Tony found himself intrigued by the notion.

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Bucky said, obviously not serious. “I could go for a chocolate ice cream cone. And vodka. You’d like vodka, Tony.”

“We are not going to go home just to party, Buck,” Steve protested.

Rhodey made a scoffing sound. “Your Majesty, that is a _terrible_ idea. It’s not like a decent contender to the throne has made an appearance. The closest you have to a relative is a distant cousin, from several generations back. You’d end the dynasty.”

“It ends with me anyway!” Tony muttered. And that was... that was _true_. Without his heart, Tony couldn’t create a child in the fae manner, not one fit to be his heir. It would result in another heartless monster like Gregory. And obviously he couldn’t create a child with Bucky in the mortal way, and even if he could, the fae would _never_ accept an heir who was three-quarters human, give or take a few drops. The Stark dynasty was _over_. Tony sat up straight, turning it all over in his thoughts, examining it. “And I could... I could decide who succeeded me,” he mused.

“And who do you think’s going to want to take on this job,” Rhodey complained. “You’re running me ragged, and I _like_ you. There’s bound to be some resistance to whoever’s in charge.”

Rhodey had a point, there. Whoever took the Summer Throne after Tony -- now or a thousand years from now -- would have to be smart, quick-witted, of impeccable character, compassionate but capable of ruthlessness, and strong-willed. It would have to be someone that Rhodey could work with, of course, and-- Tony’s eyes widened. “Pepper,” he breathed.

“So much for ice cream,” Steve commented. “Pepper’s going to kill you dead if you dump all this on her.”

Bucky was playing around with his powers, forming tiny little snow clouds. He balled up a handful of snow and threw it at Steve. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “Pepper’s practical. An’ I’ve heard her say some pretty smart things, about how the nation should be run. She can’t possibly be worse at it than Howard.”

“That doesn’t mean she wants to--” Steve said, shaking snow out of his hair as it melted.

“I,” Tony said, “will make a terrible king.” He pointed at Rhodey. “Don’t pretend it’s not true. I’m not good enough at being ruthless.”

“It’s true,” Bucky piped up. “Not that he couldn’t be ruthless, and a good king, but he doesn’t _want_ to be either of those things, and this really isn’t a job, long term, that does well with half-hearted effort.”

Rhodey spread his hands. “I am not saying a word here. There are no words here that won’t get me in trouble with _someone_.”

That was the sort of thing that Rhodey said when he knew Tony had already decided on a course of action.

Tony hadn’t decided. He’d been joking, mostly. Sort of. But... The idea appealed. A smaller job, something that he could actually make a difference doing. Taking Bucky and Steve home to the mortal world, too, had its appeal.

Maybe Rhodey was right. Maybe he _had_ decided, after all. “Pepper,” he said, and glamoured up a puff of a wind-messenger. “Bring Pepper.”

“What, Tony,” Pepper said as she strode into the throne room, two Witnesses and a tiny sprite floating along behind her. “I swear, I am doing the best I can with this mess, but the nation needs a strong ruler, and if you keep--” she stopped, looking around at all the men who were, in fact, staring at her. “What?”

Tony considered her. She was beautiful even without her glamour, strong in a way Tony could never be, graceful and gracious and certain and confident, capable of both ruthlessness and mercy. “Yep,” he said. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

“What’s always been me, Tony?” Pepper shooed her staff back out of the throne room, obviously listening to him, carefully. Sensing, somehow, that this was in fact, important. She took another few steps toward the throne. “You have a Royal Decree look on your face. Should I be concerned?”

Tony stood up, reached for Pepper’s hands. “I’m going to make you the Queen.”

“What?” Pepper let him touch her hands, and her fingers were shaking. “What… Tony--?”

“That’s Pepper-speak for yes,” Rhodey piped up. “She’s just confirming that he means what he said, because she’s never quite sure with him. It’s a side effect of so much sarcasm.”

Tony ignored Rhodey. “You already do most of the work,” he pointed out. “Think how much easier it will be without me complicating matters. You can be the Summer Queen, and I’ll be ambassador to the mortal realm.”

“You do complicate matters,” Pepper admitted. “But… only because you mean well. Tony--” She squeezed his hands. “Will it make you happy?”

“Are you kidding?” Bucky wondered. “Because I’m gonna take him to a car lot as soon as we get over there, make some sleazy used car dealer’s day by dumpin’ a bar of gold on his head, and Tony can play with a broken car to his heart’s content.”

That sounded... amazing, really. Tony flashed Bucky a smile, then looked back at Pepper. “You don’t have to say yes,” he said. “If you really don’t want it. Please say yes.”

“Tony, dear friend,” she said, looking him over. “You’re in my seat.”

Tony grinned and threw his arms around her, shuffling them around so that when he released her, he could nudge her back into the throne.

She looked good there. Regal. Perfect. Tony could practically _feel_ the Summerlands pulling at him, yearning toward her, eager for her firm and gentle touch. He dropped the smile, wanting her to know that he took this seriously, and slowly knelt. “My Queen.”

Rhodey, also, went to one knee, bowing his head to the Fae Queen. 

“Your Majesty,” Steve echoed, throwing the power of the Summer Soldier behind the Queen. 

It wasn’t quite the same as when Howard had died, how the prickles of Summer’s heat and power had teased at him, shown him a glimpse of everything beyond which he’d always known. Not all of the power left him, returning him to his place as a Prince. Or, even, in this case, no longer the heir at all. Some secrets, it appeared, could not be unlearned. 

Bucky stood. Bowed. The silver blue of his eyes went somehow colder, and more piercing than usual. “You are acknowledged, your Majesty. With your permission, my Queen will send gifts, to welcome a sister to the throne.”

Hmph. The Winter Queen hadn’t sent _Tony_ any gifts at his coronation, stupid formal thing that it had been.

Tony glanced sidelong at Bucky -- perhaps, unwillingly, she had, after all. He turned his attention back to Pepper, watching the power settle over her like a mantle and feeling lighter, himself, for its loss. Almost giddy.

The whole of the Summerlands would know of the change in power before the day was done. “What do you command?” Tony asked, teasing a little.

Pepper raised an eyebrow. “All previous rebels to the Throne are to be charged, either service to the Throne for one month’s time, or the equal in gold, gems, and valuables. These valuables will be given to our previous king, to establish an Embassy in the mortal world. Send formal word to her Majesty of Winter, she may accompany us to select a new mortal Ambassador in ten days. And Summer’s Soldier?”

“Yes, Majesty?”

“I command you to accompany our Ambassador to the mortal realm, to protect and serve him as the representative of all of the hopes of the fae.”

Steve straightened, lifting his chin. “As Your Majesty commands.”

Tony bowed. “Generous of you, Majesty.” He looked at Bucky again, searching for his lover’s feelings and thoughts. “Will you help me pack?”

“Gladly,” Bucky said, almost formal, and then he grabbed Tony around the waist, spun him around with a complete lack of decorum, kissing him on the nose, cheeks, and chin, laughing the whole time. “Gonna _go home_.”

***

The fae had sent over messengers several times, so that everything was prepared. The two Queens had met, and, disturbingly, seemed to get along, with caution on either side. Maybe they could make it work out, at least so that war was not as immediate.

“Volunteers only,” one of the fae reported to the Queens, as told. “There was a lottery, from the willing, to be allowed to stand in the Choosing Field.”

“Never thought I’d see that place again,” Bucky said, but he was eager. Not to see the volunteers, but-- just the mortal realm.

Tony laced his fingers with Bucky’s. “It will be better this time,” he promised. He was practically quivering with excitement and anticipation, so full of joy he seemed to actually glow.

“Here, put your cheaters on,” Bucky told him. “You’re not used to the sun.” Tony looked surprisingly good with the special glasses on, meant to keep the sun from dazzling his eyes. They were dark, pinkish red, and he rather resembled a movie star. The Mortal Realm wasn’t going to know what hit it.

Bucky checked on the cart again, containing the wealth they were bringing to the mortal realm with them, to select land, to build the Embassy. To live on. Bucky and Steve were never going to know short rations again. Dummy, the cat-sith, peeked out from under the top blanket, curled up on fae silks and fabrics and probably shedding all over them. Tony had argued with the cat for a while about accompanying them, but had eventually conceded that Dummy would be going whether Tony allowed it or not. 

There was a clarion call of silver trumpets, and the Queens both started their procession, walking not quite arm in arm, but close enough to prove that they were allies and equals.

Rhodey and Sunset just behind them, their Queen’s Chief Advisors. Bucky shuddered. He’d probably forgive the Queen and Sunset in time, or at least, their wrongs against him would fade and be forgotten, but right that instant, seeing them together was like a block of ice around his chest.

Still. They were going home. That ice could melt in actual sunlight.

Another trumpet call, and Bucky and Steve took up their positions, Summer leading, Winter following, the Ambassador.

“Leastways, I get th’ good view,” Bucky muttered.

“Stop that, you’re supposed to be otherworldly and intimidating,” Tony said over his shoulder, obviously amused. “How are you going to manage that if you’re ogling my ass the whole time?”

“Any damn body’s paying attention to me, probably gonna figure out that we’re _special friends_ in about two minutes time.” At least, with an Embassy and diplomatic immunity, Bucky wasn’t going to have to worry about getting arrested. He was still human, but the fae world had rubbed off on him a bit. He wasn’t entirely mortal anymore. And therefore, the laws of the fae applied, rather than the laws of men.

They pushed through the portal to the mortal lands, like walking through a thick bank of fog, and then they were out in sunlight, and Bucky had to blink several times. He wasn’t used to the sun either, anymore. 

More than that, the Field was full of volunteers and they were all cheering, like dames at a red carpet. At first Bucky thought they were cheering the Queens, or Tony, but then Bucky caught sight of a poster one girl was holding up, yelling and cheering.

He and Steve were pictured there, that sepia tone of a photograph. “Welcome home.”

Bucky uttered a startled, sudden sound, and his eyes were watering. “Holy shit.”

“You’re famous.” Tony turned around to look at Bucky, grinning widely. “The returning ambassadors.”

“We’ve been gone all of half a year,” Steve said, as one girl shoved-- a photograph of Steve, scrawny and underfed looking, wearing a white tee shirt -- something at him to sign. His face looked the same as he did in the photo, but the rest of it seemed to be what she was interested in, hand darting forward as if to touch his chest.

“Oh, oh,” the girl said, looking startled. “ _You don’t know_?”

“Know what?” Tony asked, peering around Steve’s arm.

“Oh, _wow_ , aren’t you hot?” the woman said, blinking at Tony’s sudden interest. “Look, you guys were in movies-- like, so sweet how, even back in the forties, he was willing to follow his quote best friend unquote into the fae lands. The story about the Fae Tribute and Bucky Barnes’ self sacrifice, like you guys have been in the movies, _dozens_ of times. Like the most famous Besties in the world, aside from maybe Frodo and Samwise.”

“How-- movies take a long time t’ make,” Bucky said. He’d seen a few picture shows when they had an extra dime to spare.

“What do you mean, _back in the forties?_ ” Steve demanded. He lifted his head, looking around, though there wasn’t much in the Choosing Field to see besides people and grass and a few trees.

“Go on, then,” someone else said, holding up a little rectangle in Steve’s direction. “I gotta capture this, I’ll be the most famous YouTuber in history. _Tell him_.” 

The girl took a deep breath. “You don’t know how long you’ve been gone, do you? It’s… you were the Chosen in 1943.  It’s… 2018 now.”

Bucky blinked. _2018_? “That’s not a real year,” he protested.

“ _Oh_ ,” Tony said suddenly. “Regime change. I didn’t realize...” He looked at Bucky and Steve, and then back at the girl. “Time flows differently for us. And the _rate_ at which it flows differently is... partially dependent on who’s on the throne. Sometimes there are... hiccups. When a new King or Queen takes the throne. Like the twilight lands just... stop for a while.”

“The _hell_ am I over a hundred years old--” Bucky’s voice spiraled up in disbelief, bordering on panic. 

“It’s like Rip Van Winkle,” the girl said, and she put her hand out again, resting her fingers on Steve’s wrist, like she was worried about Steve’s reaction. “He lay down in a fairy ring and woke up thirty years later. You two are… the most famous humans in the world. We all know-- Look, my name’s Peggy Carter, I can… be your liaison, if you want. Help you get adjusted.”

Tony’s hand found its way into Bucky’s, squeezing reassuringly, even as he said, “Didn’t you come here to volunteer?” He glanced back to where the Queens were making their way through the crowds.

“Well, sure,” Peggy said. “But there’s a thousand of them, and I’m _right here_.”

“Your opportunism is shining through, English,” the girl with the rectangle said. “Look, look at this, look at his face.” She pushed something on the rectangle and-- there was a little moving picture inside the box, Steve, talking, Bucky, staring with his mouth open.

“What _is_ that?”

“My phone?” the other woman said. “Oh, wait, wait, there’s a meme for this--”

“Forgive her, she thinks there’s a meme for everything,” Peggy said.

“A what?”

“‘I possess a device, in my pocket, that is capable of accessing the entirety of information known to man. I use it to look at pictures of cats and get in to arguments with strangers,’” the second girl said, and flashed a tiny photo at them -- in color -- of a man sitting at a desk, staring in shock at something.

“Do you have a picture of your cat?” Bucky asked, stupidly.

“ _Now_ you’ve done it,” Peggy said.

“Liaison,” Tony said firmly. “Both of you, if you want it.” He reached out to steady the little device that didn’t look anything at all like a telephone, fingers brushing over it curiously. “There’s no iron in this.”

“Mostly plastic, some precious metals, glass,” the second girl said. “I’m Angie, by the way, Mr. Ambassador. Angie Martinelli. Peggs here is my best friend, she talked me into coming.”

Bucky couldn’t really absorb anything that was going on, not the phone that Angie was brandishing like it was either the most precious thing in the world to her, or a dangerous weapon, not the news that they were in a new century entirely. “Just tell me they still got ice cream?”

“Oh, sure, sugar,” Angie said. “You look like a chocolate man to me.”

“Come on, then,” Peggy said. “They sent a limo for you, I heard. To take you off to your suite. I saw it from the train.”

“You are _so bossy_ for someone who works for the phone company,” Angie complained.

Peggy glanced at Steve again, then her mouth tipped up in a slow, creampot smile. “It doesn’t matter now, I’m a liaison to the Ambassador. And I know my own worth.”

 


	23. Epilogue

Bucky woke up suddenly.

Something had changed, and he wasn’t sure what it was. 

The huge Tower, the Embassy, was quiet around them. At the moment, they were the only residents; he and Tony in the penthouse.

In a few days, or a few weeks, the staff would move into the graceful glass and plastic and stone spire. Even as a half-blood fae, Tony found many mortal dwellings uncomfortable, with their bones of iron. Not fatal, or even injurious, but somewhat oppressive. 

The Tower was built for the comfort of any fae guests who came to call, as well as a symbol of the fae’s grandeur.

With some effort, Tony had coaxed the portal to the Fae Realms to move and take up residence in the courtyard.

And now it was finished.

The air system wasn’t running. That had taken Bucky forever to get used to, the way all the buildings were hot (or cold) as needed, with a simple turn of a dial. Even moreso than the political changes, some of the technology was as crazy as the magic he’d seen in the fae realms.

Bucky rolled over in the big bed, plumped his pillow. Tony still complained sometimes about the human-made bedsheets, but he was still asleep.

Bucky sat up a little to look at him, faintly aglow in the dim nightlights.

On his left hand, resting on the pillow, glittered an iron ring.

That Bucky had placed on his hand in a simple ceremony the morning before. 

 _Married_ , and it hadn’t taken a bribe, or so much as a threat. Marriage was legal between any two people who loved. Astonishing. Bucky kept expecting someone to tell him that humans were growing wings, or walking up the walls, the way everything had changed in… three quarters of a century.

He glanced over at the clock; brilliant blue and glowing the time across the room.

12:01am.

Hmmm. Bucky wondered if that was significant, somehow.

Tony had been his husband for all of eight hours or so. 

Well, that was a nice thought. Bucky ran a hand down Tony’s shoulder, feeling oddly content and _at peace_.

Safe.

Tony made a soft noise in the back of his throat, wrinkled his nose, and then slowly opened his eyes. “Bucky? Y’okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, and his voice broke oddly. There was a burning in his eyes and a tightening of his throat, and then-- tears were running down his cheeks, utterly silent, but steady. “Oh, god.”

He still didn’t know-- so strange, he wasn’t the least bit sad.

Tony sat up, alarmed, cupped Bucky’s face in his hands. “Honey?” He brushed tears away with gentle fingers. “What is it?”

“It’s so _quiet_ ,” Bucky said, and he tried to pin that down. He couldn’t-- “ _I can’t hear her_.”

Tony blinked, then looked at the clock. “Oh. It worked, then.” He smiled a little. “Mr. Stark.”

Bucky reached up a trembling hand and brushed his fingers over Tony’s face. “I’m free,” he said. “I’m free of her, oh, Tony, _oh my god_.”

Tony gathered him into a close, warm embrace, letting Bucky tuck his face against Tony’s neck and shudder through his reaction. “I’m so glad,” Tony murmured, “so happy, sweetheart.”

“I-- I kinda forgot,” Bucky confessed. “I _forgot_. I married… I wanted to marry you, not for-- not to spite the Queen, or to get free of her, but because that’s _what you do_ with the person you wanna spend your whole life with. And we can, it’s legal an’ all that. Everything about this-- it’s just a miracle, Tony. You’re my own, personal miracle.”

Tony held Bucky tighter. “No miracles here,” he said. “Not even any glamour. Just love.”

“You an’ that smart mouth,” Bucky accused him, nuzzling at Tony’s throat. “Always got somethin’ to say.” He found that soft spot, right where Tony’s neck became shoulder, and bit down, light, right there.

Tony hummed approvingly. “You like my smart mouth,” he said, smug. “Don’t you, James?”

Bucky shuddered, feeling the zing of his name once again. “Say it again. Husband.”

Tony brushed his lips against Bucky’s ear, his breath warm and just the slightest bit ticklish. “James. Barnes. Stark.”

Bucky lipped Tony’s ear, tugging light on the lobe with his teeth. “Still feel your heart, right here. There’s magic here, just… quieter. Anthony Edward Stark.” 

And since there was still plenty of darkness, an abundance of quiet, and an empty building under them, James Barnes Stark rolled his husband onto his back and kissed him, demonstrating all the magic and miracles he had to offer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s a wrap on this story!
> 
> Next Sunday we’ll be picking up the weekday story ([Bound by Blood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21128426)) so that it can wrap up before Thanksgiving, which is when we’ll kick off a holiday story, _The Christmas Unicorn_. We’ll be posting that story only, on the usual schedule (Tues/Thurs/Sun) until that wraps.


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